


Princess of Asgard

by Idonia_Dovahkiin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Foreshadowing, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Kidnapping, Middle Child, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Past life, Possible/Most likely Smut, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Thor (2011), Present Life, Princes & Princesses, Romance, Royalty, Slow Build, Swearing, actress, undercover agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 100,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonia_Dovahkiin/pseuds/Idonia_Dovahkiin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three children of Odin: The Golden Son, the Peacekeeper, and the Silvertongue. The Peacekeeper is the younger twin of the Golden Son and only daughter of Odin. She small, she is soft, and she is delicate as all princesses should be. But she is not, by any means, weak. The daughter of Odin is a Goddess and has secrets of her own. And, it might be because of those secrets why she was taken or because of her title.<br/>She is, and always will be, a Princess of Asgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories of the Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Due to my sets and collections on polyvore gaining popularity, I've chosen to post the first chapter of Princess of Asgard (PoA). The first chapter of PoA is more of a prologue – as much as I hate them 'cause I'm OCD and the numbers don't line up in the index-thingy. I'll manage though. 
> 
> ***Fair warning though, the Princess does not and will not have a name for creative purposes. She will be known as "Princess," "young maiden," "dear sister," "daughter," and so on.*** Fear not, she will gain a name in the next chapter! I would, also, like to take this time to apologize if Loki is OOC. Since this is pre-Thor and there is a older/younger sister in the mix, I figured he wouldn't be as... mischievous - at least with her. Remember that these are only GLIMPSES of memories, so who's to say he's... completely OOC?
> 
> And, it is up to YOU – the readers and reviewers – who my OC is with. You see, I can't choose between Loki and Steve. Although, I love Loki he is very different from what I normally write. Steve is safe and I'd like to give him a chance. (I do have a fanfic idea strictly for Steve though.) Please let me know who you think she should end up with by as you read. I should have an idea by a certain chapter and be able to work out any kinks.
> 
> Please read, enjoy, and review.

The great palace of Asgard glimmered in the dwindling sunlight. The golden walls shone brilliantly, dazzling the citizens in the village below and casting the open halls in a dazzling golden color. The pillars' shadows hid the guards dressed in black and metal standing in front of them. Their faces remained unchanging to the sight behind them.

_Soon._ They all thought. Soon, their King will return.

The quiet halls were disturbed by the sound of rushing feet and heavy breathing. A girl, appearing no more than five years old, raced down the corridors. Her long, light pink nightgown was clutched in her tiny hands so that she may run faster than the two behind her. Her soft and long golden hair, which was once tied in pretty pink bows, was pulled behind her as she ran. Strands of it glistened in the dipping sun – perhaps it truly was made of gold or even the sun. Her eyes were the color of the mid-day sky – a blue that was so light, it would appear that birds could be flying in them. Or that could just be the emotions she's feeling passing by. With each quick breath that leaves past her pink lips, another came in, only to leave shortly after entering.

_Daddy_ , she thought happily. She could already envision the tall and proud man she called Daddy opening his large arms for her. She was almost at the entrance. She'll be the first to hug her Daddy!

"Sister," shouted a tall blonde boy, "wait!"

She didn't. She didn't even turn her head to look back.

The boy gently grasped the arm of his younger brother, who was desperately trying not to cry from falling down. He rubbed his chubby arm across his eyes. He won't cry, not in front of his brother. He even left his stuffed toy in his chambers once he heard the news of his Father's return. His older sister and brother were already racing down the hall before he fell and cried out for help.

"Come, Loki," the tall boy's hand fell to grasp the toddler's hand. "We'll greet Father together."

"T'ank you, T'or." The shy toddler tightly gripped his hand. Together they jogged down the long hall; the guards smiled at the adorable sight.

The Princess of Asgard was nearly at the doors! She could see her mommy and daddy conversing; she let out a loud squeal when she saw the tall man dressed in gold armor.

"DADDY!" she screamed leaping into the air with her tiny arms wide open.

Odin laughed joyfully as he caught her, the loud sound resonating off the walls. He held her in the air and spun her around and around, her giggles joining his laughter. Frigga stepped back laughing whole-heartily at the scene before her.

"My sweet baby girl!" Odin shouted, hugging her tightly.

Little Loki was out of breath once he and Thor reached the entrance hall.

"FATHER!" Thor shouted, letting go of his brother's hand to embrace the Asgardian king.

Loki squealed out for his Father, rushing to hug him as well. It had been so long since he had last seen him. Since any of the three small children saw him. Why must he go away so long?

Frigga gracefully fell to her knees to join her family, her hands gently placed themselves on Odin's shoulders, and her lips kissed his cheek. _Our children are far too awake now to fall asleep._

...

A young maiden, just entering her years of adolescents, stared down at the courtyard where her friends and older brother played. Although her brother would say they are practicing, she knew better. They were playing. Surely practice wouldn't involve so much laughter and jest. The wooden swords _thunked_ together and the swords hit the metal shields. What would she have to do to prove to her Father that she could be a warrior?

_"You are my daughter!"_ He said, voice booming. _"You are the Princess of Asgard! You are far too fragile to wield a blade! You will learn spells in their minority! You will never see the battlefield."_

Though he shouted with a fatherly protective air, she couldn't help but add her own mockery to it. Thinking simply that she was female, she could not fight. Sif was proving him wrong on that fact.

"You're staring again, dear sister." A smooth voice whispered in her ear.

Gasping, the Princess whirled around to face the dark haired prince. Loki had grown tall over the centuries, a foot taller than her now. Oh, how she missed the days when she was taller than her two brothers. His hair remained unchanged; still short and black as night. His eyes were a startling light green, and there was an ever present glimmer of mischief in them. His skin was still a healthy pale white; he spent far too much time in the libraries practicing all sorts of sorcery. Unlike most of the Asgardian males, Loki failed to have bulging muscles on his person. (Although, if the Princess wished to remain truthful, she admitted he has a lean built.)

With a huff, the Princess grabbed the forgotten book in her lap and began to read. She hoped that if she resumed her reading, she'll ignore her younger brother and the sparring several yards below and away from her perch. "Yes, and?"

Loki chuckled at her childish act, sitting in front of her on the open windowsill. Her legs were tucked under her in a ladylike fashion, her long and flowy pale lavender gown hid them. He took the book from her small hands. "'Tis upside down." He said when he saw her go to protest, handing it back to her.

"Thank you," she muttered, embarrassed.

"You are welcome. Tell me why you were staring?" he grinned knowingly.

"I was merely making sure that they didn't harm Thor."

Loki chuckled at her statement, shaking his head. "You, dear sister, are a horrible liar."

She glared at him from over her book. "Not everyone can be a talented silvertongue, dear brother."

"Tell me the truth then."

With a sigh, the Princess closed her book and placed it back on her lap. Leaning back she stared back down that the small group of warriors (and a future King) in training. "I… I asked Father if I could train beside Thor this morning, after morning's meal. He said… he said no." Odin's voice still rung angrily in her head. How could he yell at her? He's never yelled at her before.

"I cannot rely simply on the guards and you and Thor to always be there for me if I'm in trouble. I overheard far too many horror stories from the maids and cooks and guards, and I fear I might find myself in a situation such as them." She looked at her younger brother. "I simply want to learn how to protect myself! What if, what if a Frost Giant breaks through our walls and no one's there to protect me! You and Thor know ways to fight and kill – even Mother knows! I only know harmless spells that would have them fall over in laughter!" She lowered and shook her head. "Father… I can tell he simply wants me to stand there and look pretty – a harmless flower that needs protection." Her voice was lost to be a whisper of grief.

Loki looked at his saddened sister and best friend. He could see the tears gathering in her eyes and a frown tugging at her lips. Ever so gently, he placed his hands over hers. Their eyes locked when she raised her head. "Then he is missing a great warrior-to-be. You are more agile and intelligent than a certain rash blonde we both know very well. And if a Frost Giant should break through our defenses, I will be there for you – just as Thor would be. We love you very much. And," he whispered, "I could teach a few harmful spells in secret, if you'd like." He said earnestly, smiling. The Princess smiled in return, beaming. The tears never fell over her eyes.

"Thank you, Loki." She brushed her smooth hand against his face, fighting the urge to throw her arms around him. "You are always there for me when Thor is not. I am truly thankful to have you in my life, brother." Her hand pushed back some of his more stubborn hairs behind his ear.

"You are welcome." A smirk played on his lips. "Now give us a kiss." He jokingly leaned in closer, his hand holding her neck.

The Princess bopped her book on Loki's forehead, giggling. "Stop it."

...

A boy, just in his teens, dressed as a warrior in training, with tears of pain in his sky blue eyes ran down the long corridor. He kept his head down; if he walked fast enough and didn't make eye contact no one would see him. He cradled his right hand to his chest; hiding it with his left. His fingers were slightly curled and his entire right hand was burnt horribly; he nearly gagged at the smell of his burnt flesh.

Why? Oh, why did he do such a stupid thing?

Then Thor heard them. The sound of clicking heels and soft humming – his sister! He rushed down the hall, shouting for her. His sister would be best to see, not because she's closer. Loki would just continuously mock him for his act of stupidity.

"SISTER!" he bellowed effectively not chocking on his tears. He won't cry he was a man after all. Rounding a tight corner – and avoiding two guards – he saw his dear (younger) twin sister. Long, soft golden hair traveled down her back and over her small shoulders. Bright blue eyes stared curiously over her shoulder; long black lashes kiss rosy cheekbones as she blinked. A line presented itself between golden brows and her dainty nose scrunched up. Her back was to him, but he knew her small hands were folded over each other in front of her.

His name passed her pink lips, concern laced in the single word. As he grew closer, she turned to face him. He was right; her hands were folded over each other.

Once he was close enough – his toes touched hers through the navy blue and gold trimmed gown she wore – he revealed his burnt and blistered hand. With an irritated sigh, the Princess gingerly took his massive hand. Everything about her was small, delicate, and gentle; opposite of him – large, rugged, and rough.

"You tried to lift Mjölnir, didn't you?" she looked up at him through her lashes.

"Yes," he whimpered. "Please, do not tell Mother or Father."

"I won't."

A white glow, which emanated from her hands, enveloped Thor's injured hand. A gentle, cooling breeze left past the Princess's lips and joined the glow. His sniffles and whimpers (something he only does in front of his dear twin sister) slowly ceased as the cooling sensation dulled the ache to nothing. His back and shoulders relaxed at the cooling touch. He closed his eyes and smiled; feeling returned to his hand.

The breeze and glow slowly faded away.

"Better?" she asked, her fingers uncurling from his hand.

"Much. Thank you." He wrapped his growing arms around her thin waist, hugging her tightly. "You truly are the best sister anyone could have."

The Princess laughed, (weakly) hugging him back. "Thank you, Thor." (1)

...

The years of gods and goddesses slowly ticked away with each passing day. It was especially true for one goddess who simply learned how to be a proper princess; not being able to learn the ways of the blade or arrow or axe. True to his word Loki had taught her in secret; when all were asleep in their beds and Asgard was silent. Even so, his teachings were not enough for the Princess of Asgard. She desperately wished to fight with a blade alongside her brothers. Yet the AllFather forbid it. In spite of that, in spite of his wrath she may face if he found out, the Princess trained herself with a sword. It started out as such a simple task; go out in the dead of night when everyone was sleeping, go deep within the woods, and wield the blade at the beings she had conjured. It merely started with once a month, then twice, once a week, then twice. Now, nearly every night she when didn't learn and prefect a new spell, every night she goes out.

The Princess slowly opened one eye, searching the area of her chambers she could see from her laying position. Rolling onto her back, she opened the other. Rising into a sitting position, she looked around her empty room. No signs of maids or tricks. Slipping out of her bed and prancing to the door, she looked up and down the long corridor. Just before she began her adventure, she created a fake body of her on her bed. There wouldn't be any disasters while she's away, so long as she returns well before dawn.

Each step she took was light and soundless. The skirt of her light yellow night dress brushed against the cool stone floor. She hid behind thick tapestries and pillars upon hearing confident, patrolling footsteps. Her face often became flushed from the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was a wonder how no one can hear her heart pounding.

With great stealth and wits, the young maiden made to the stables. The giant horses did not neigh or kick at their stalls at the intruder; they merely fell back to sleep. All but one went back to sleep, a white and gray mare whose head poked out at the familiar scent. Much like the Princess, this gentle horse would never see the battlefield.

"Hello, friend." She whispered, petting her long face. "Are you ready to go?"

The mare snorted while nodding her head. Laughing softly, the Princess unlatched the door and led her large companion to saddle up. With quick, unshaken hands the mare was ready to ride out into the dark wood. The grass and rolling hills softened the galloping hooves.

The trees held many secrets. They had seen many things in their lifetime; far more than the gods and goddesses of Asgard. They knew where to find water, shade, food, mythical/powerful animals, and where the Princess trained herself. There were balls of elegant light that sat upon the branches above her; forming a nearly perfect circle of light. She glared at the person before her: a beautiful maiden with long blonde hair with a creamy complexion and bright blue eyes, a sword and shield in her hand. The Princess had long since abandoned her night dress and cloak; to change into leather pants, a tunic, heavy war boots, greaves, vambraces, and a shoulder guard. She wielded a heavy silver and black sword and matching shield.

Metal clashed against metal, swords and shields deflected numerous attacks. The real Princess of Asgard was able to swipe the clone's person, only to have the clone attack back. The pain wasn't unbearable; the clone's attacks simply burned the area. They fought until sweat dripped into her mouth and off of her brow and the muscles in her body ached terribly. The real Princess brought her sword up high above her head and swung down until—

"Sister?" A voice sounded outside the circle of lights.

The conjured person vanished and she sliced empty air; stumbling forward. She hesitantly looked to where the voice sounded. Seeing the silhouette her spine straightened and her heart pulsated erratically under her breast. Thor walked through the white light's line circle. His expression was accusing.

"What are you doing?" his eyes traveled up and down her form. She wasn't dressed in her normal clothes; gowns and frilly things. Why was she dressed in pants and armor?

She lowered her head in shame. "Training."

"Why?"

"So that I may fight alongside you and Loki and the Warriors Three, and that I may protect myself better."

"Does Father know?"

"No. I train in secret."

"I see."

A silence fell between them. The Princess glanced up her brother. They're so close; surely he won't tell their parents. He was oddly silent; she never knew him to be so quiet. Why was he being so quiet? She gently rubbed her chest, heart aching from beating so fast. Her entirely body trembled uncontrollably and the sword and shield laid forgotten on the forest floor.

"I may not be a complete expert with the way of the sword and shield; however, I will train you with them. You are my sister and the Princess of Asgard; you deserve to learn the way of the sword."

She could not believe her ears! Her brother was willing to teach her how to fight! With tears streaming down her face, she flung herself upon him. She tightly wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered, "thank you so much, Thor." She kissed his cheek, but flinches at the sharp stubble meeting her soft lips. "Ow, you need to shave, brother." Still hanging from him, she gingerly rubbed her lips.

Thor's laugh was loud and boisterous; the Princess hung on for dear life as it shook her. His calloused hands lifted her high above him – she squealed out at the sudden action. Much like what Odin used to do to her when she was little; Thor spun her high above him laughing overcome with love for her. His love for her ran deep, though they were twins he was (and always will be) fiercely protective of her. No matter how many suitors flood to meet with her and attempt to court her, no man will ever be worthy of having her. Even if they could lift Mjölnir, they'd still be unworthy.

"Thor," she screeched, slapping his hand, "put me down, you oversized oaf!"

Even when she said things such as that, he would never stop loving her.

...

"Tonight," Odin's voice rang throughout the golden hall, draped in red, "we celebrate the birth of my two oldest children! My son and daughter, the Prince and Princess of Asgard!"

Roars and applause exploded through the hall. There were so many men and women in the palace to celebrate their birth; so many in fact that the Prince and Princess couldn't name them all. Lords and Ladies of this and that, they told each other. Surely, Thor wouldn't mind so much attention. Sadly, the Princess hardly left the palace walls; she's never seen so many people. Is their birth that important to everyone? Thor would become King and she'd marry to a Lord of sorts and be a Lady of this. Why must she attend?

Nonetheless, she smiles at the people. Her painted lips stretched far, revealing her white sparkling teeth and adding more color to her blushing cheeks. Just like her mother taught her, her delicate hands were folded in front of her and her back was straight with her shoulders back. A proud Princess of Asgard.

Frigga wished for her daughter to wear a color that matches Thor's cape. So, the young Princess of a few hundred or so years wears a red satin ball gown. The long satin sleeves are annoyingly tight and constricting around her arms. The golden studded belt seemed to restrict any deep breathes she wished to take. Her golden sandal-like high heeled shoes (oh, her poor feet shall not forgive that night), hide under the large skirt. True, she is used to being dressed up each and every day, but her mother and maids seemed to amp it up this night. All because it was her name day.

There she stood, beside her boisterous brother, smiling and thanking people she did not care to remember for their wonderful gifts.

The music was loud and delightful; it rang all throughout the palace in cheery tunes. She danced with many men that night – some old, most young, all loud and large. As she danced, so did everyone else. She caught glimpses of Thor's red cape swirling around and a pretty maiden in front of him. As much as she wished to, the Princess resisted rolling her eyes at him. She saw her Mother and Father dancing and talking to others. Unfortunately, her Little Loki was lost in the sea of smiling faces and dance partners.

Finally, after many attempts, she was able to flee the grand room. The Princess dramatically flung herself upon a bench, leaning against the railing beside it. The night air felt so good on her heated person.

So many people. There were so many people. Too many – talking about her and her brother and her soon-to-be title. Her head and ears ached at all the voices that surrounded her. Or it could be because of her wretched hairdo. She could still hear them amongst the music and Thor's laughter. He would always enjoy being the center of attention. As would she, if he wasn't such an arrogant bas—

"Pardon me, my Princess." A soft voice disturbed what little peace she had.

"Please," she begged, lifting her aching head, "I just wish to be—Loki?" she titled her head. Where has he been all night?

Her younger brother chuckled, coming to stand in front of her. "You wish to be me, sister? I'm flattered; although, I do not believe Asgard is ready for the two of us."

"Oh, hush," she lightly kicked his shin, "I merely wished to be alone for a while."

"Why is that?"

"Simply because I cannot take all of that," she gestured to the loud celebration.

"The people of Asgard are just overjoyed to have you and Thor in their lives."

Throwing her head back, the Princess made a very unladylike groan. "Ugh! That is beside the point, Loki. They come and talk to me as if we were friends our whole lives – I don't know any of them! Nor do I wish to."

People slowly began to trickle out of the palace – laughing and stumbling. Loki glanced at them and his sister. Should they hear her, through their drunken state, something would be said to the King about the Princess' negative behavior.

"Come," he said, gently grabbing her arm.

"No, Loki," she took her arm back, refusing to stand, "my feet hurt."

"Then take your shoes off."

"I cannot merely take off my—"

The look the young Prince gave her was frightening; thus, she took off her golden slippers and stood.

"Very good," he said, looping her arm around his. "Shall we be off?" Not waiting for a reply, he started walking down the steps that would lead them to the private gardens. She always loved walking the gardens. No one really bothered her there. Who would bother the Princess of Asgard when she was walking through the gardens?

Tonight, in light of the celebration, the gardens had balls of lights strung out through them. The fountains strategically scattered through it were bathed in light and flowing crystal clear water. The gardeners saw to it that the flowers would be in full bloom for this night. There were so many that were well known throughout Asgard. Their aroma was so sweet and alluring, the Princess never wanted to leave.

It was blissfully peaceful. No one was in the gardens but her and Loki. The others were too engulfed with the celebration of her and Thor's birth.

"You don't seem quite like yourself, dear sister." Loki's soft voice didn't break the tranquility she felt. "Is something wrong?"

_Something wrong?_

Everything was wrong! Heimdall told Odin and Frigga about her secret practices with her brothers, due to a scare, and then was cast to her chambers for weeks. She was to only come out for meals, even then no one dared to speak with her. They would feel Odin's wrath if they did. Thor's arrogance seemed to grow more and more with each passing day. Loki had been distancing himself from her and Thor, and he would not say why. Frigga kept pestering her with suitors. On top of all of that, the Princess had witnessed her lover's death – hanged. Although, no one knew of the man's special status to her he was just a mere stable boy. She could still feel his stubble against her cheek and his large, rough hands running down her slim back.

"No." she very easily lied. "Tell me, where are we going?"

"There." Loki pointed with his free hand to a white little open hut-like building, which was draped in deep red colors, flowers, and hanging lights.

She merely nodded her head.

His poor sister. The Princess of Asgard had fallen silent and Loki feared that she was falling to become a mute. Why? Why was his beloved sister acting this way? What Heimdall had done was to protect her! Those buffoons would have raped and killed her had Odin not shown up with an army of guards! Can she not see that?

Subconsciously his arms tensed at the thought.

"Loki," her voice cut through the air like a knife, "did you enchant this? I cannot hear the music." She asked once the stepped inside.

"Yes, I did. I thought you needed peace and quiet."

"Thank you." She slipped from him, choosing to sit on a bench.

She looked so sad and so lost, the young Prince had no thought of what to do. He had never seen her in such a state.

With a gentle twist of his hand, soft and slow music began to float around them.

"No," he said, making her stand again. Carefully, he took out the pins that were hidden in her hair. Lock after golden lock fell and framed her angelic face. The strands of satin gold and white beads softly fell to the floor.

"I refuse for this night to end without us dancing." His hands left her hair and he took hers; one hand on her waist, and the other gentle holding her hand up. She instinctively followed suit; one on his shoulder, and gently holding his hand in return.

"Very well, brother." With the tight hairdo undone and the soft music playing, her headache sluggishly went away. The pins, beads, and fabric that were in her hair lay forgotten behind her, in addition to her shoes.

They danced together to the peaceful tune. The loud and obnoxious sounds of the party were yards away and forbidden to enter their quiet world. It was moments like these that they loved; together and alone with each other. No one dared speak ill of them or mock them.

Loki gently spun her around, and with a small laugh she fell back into him. He closed his eyes and smiled. "Oh, how I have missed that sound." He whispered.

"What sound?"

"Your laugh." He looked down in her bright blue eyes. Dare he say he saw a sparkle of joy in them? "I haven't heard it in months."

She was the first to break it; she chose to stare at his chest. "A lot has happened, brother. So much so I'm nearly stunned by it."

Their dance came to a slow stop, but they refused to let go of each other.

"I fear that this celebration shows how much Thor and I have grown apart." She began to tremble. "I love Thor, honestly I do, and nothing will ever change that. But he's… changed. He's reckless. He's arrogant. I've tried for him to see that, but he remains clueless. He is not the brother who used to pick me up and carry me to the healers when I fell and skinned my knee. He is not the brother that would allow me to crawl into his bed, because I had a nightmare. He is not the brother who scares away strange men. He is not the brother who helped train me with a sword and shield. He's changed, Loki, and I hate it!" By now tears flowed down her cheeks; smearing her make-up that took hours to perfect.

"Sister," Loki cradled her sad face in his hands as if she were a porcelain doll. He gingerly wiped her continuous tears with his thumbs. Seeing her cry broke his heart.

"Why must things change? Why can't things simply stay as they are?" she demanded answers, which he could not give. For once, in his long life, he did not know what to tell her.

He kissed her forehead.

"I don't understand, Loki." She sobbed, grasping his hands.

It's too much. This change is too much. It felt as if her world was spinning out of control and everyone was leaving her.

Loki tightly wrapped his lean, strong arms around her shaking form. She attempted to bury herself in his chest; ignoring the armor on his person.

"You've changed as well, my Little Loki." she muttered, the tears won't stop. "You are constantly studying spells and potions and leaving me for your books. I remember when we used to ride out to the woods' edge and read for hours. You'd have your own book and I'd have mine. Your head would be on my lap as you read, and my fingers would brush through your hair as I read. Now we do none of that. I do not know what it is that you are studying, but must you do it every day?" she looked up at him. That sparkle Loki thought he saw was gone by now. The tears were streaming down her face in rivers. He had become a horrible brother.

"I am sorry," he whispered, nearly choking, thumbs wiping away her tears, "I am truly sorry. After this night, we will spend days together again. We will read together. We will play together. We will be together again. I promise." He pressed his lips against her forehead again.

The Princess shuddered in his arms; she believed his words. How could he lie to her with such promises – with such serenity in his eyes? The tears didn't seem to be overflowing her eyes now.

"And I swear," Loki continued voice hard as stone, "I will speak with Thor of his behavior. I will see to it that you and him, and all three of us, will spend days together."

Sometimes the second born wished that Loki was her twin. She often felt closer to Loki than to Thor. She and Thor may look alike, except their personalities are shockingly different. She often wished she could be as loud and as boisterous as him, though.

"Thank you," she whispered and kissed his smooth cheek. Weakly smiling, she rubbed off her lipstick that stained his pale cheek.

A smell, which was so subtle, grew around them. A smell which the Princess loved and adored for a long while now. Red blossoms took form from the gazebo's roof's edge, they hung all around them.

"Roses," she sighed, inhaling the sweet scent.

"They are your favorite, are they not?" Loki said as he watched a beautiful smile form on her lips. How he did miss that smile.

"Yes. Out of all the flowers I know, roses are my favorite." She walked over to a red blossom and cupped it between her hands – minding the thorns on the stem. "Though they reside on Midgard, I never tire of their fragrance." She gently sniffed the aroma; her smile seemed to widen.

"You are… happy, then?"

"Yes." She gazed at her beloved brother, hands folding in front of her.

"I am glad." He tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her tear-stained cheek.

For a moment she saw her dearly loved stable boy; she brushed her lips against his palm.

"SISTER!"

With a startled gasp from both they tore away from each other. Thor's loud voice shattered the tranquility they had; the music and the laughter returned like an army. His cape was behind him as he ran up to the two, the silver on his armor delicately gleaming in the magical light.

"Thor?"

"Sister, come," he roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled back to the palace, "it is time for the cake."

She stumbled over her bare feet as he took her back. Must he be so rough? Another change in him he, she noted remorsefully.

"Have you shrunken, sister?" Thor asked as he pulled her along.

"No, you have merely grown." She lied smoothly; no need to know about her lack of shoes.

Loki watched his brother and sister return to the hall with a sigh. He would return her slippers to her and leave the hair dresses in her chambers, before returning to the party.

Once the first and second born entered the celebration hall, cheers and applause exploded all around them. Thor boasted and cheered along with them. His sister meekly nodded her head in thanks, heading to the oversized cake.

A small frown tugged at Frigga's lips upon seeing her daughter. "What happened to your hair?"

"Um," she glanced down briefly, "I had undone it due to a headache forming. I am sorry, Mother, but I couldn't take it."

The Queen smiled at her bashfulness. She smoothly brushed back the curls from her daughter's face, chuckling once they fell back into place. "Is it gone?"

"Yes, Mother."

Frigga nodded her head. Their attention went upon Thor as he thrusted the knife high above him. Odin shook his head at his eldest son's antics.

"As a wise man once said," he shouted, "let there be cake!" He turned back to face his sister, so that they may cut the cake together.

Over the course of the night, the Princess ignored the voices of the people she did not know. She smiled kindly and danced with many people – they all fluidly missed her bare feet. Loki seemed to have appeared out of thin air and rescued her; he lifted her up as the Princess she was and carried her to bed. They claimed she felt faint.

...

_Run._

She has to run!

_Hide._

She has to hide!

Swords clashed together and shields smacked against each other. Fire burned all around her, the dark blue sky was alight with the angry flames. Screams cut through the night air like an arrow. Decay and blood was strong in the crisp air. The monsters attacked out of nowhere and for no reason known to her.

Her brothers.

She needs to find her brothers!

"THOR! LOKI!" she screamed, running anywhere they might be. With her night dress torn above her knees, she ran faster than she ever had before.

Those who fought around her ignored her and were ignore by her. None of them were her brothers. She could see many injured and many die.

She screamed for them again. She ignored the flames licking at her skin and the burning inside her lungs. She needed to find them. Where were they?

The Princess nearly tripped when she turned a corner. She gasped, blue eyes widened in fright. Monsters from storybooks turned to her, their sharp and crooked yellow teeth dripped with blood. A body of a guard laid dead behind them. Their bulging eyes locked on her shaking and burned form. One, who was large and overly revolting, pointed at her. It gargled, "Her."

She fled, screaming louder and louder for her brothers. Tears and smoke were chocking her. She was going to die if they didn't come!

_A sword._

She needed a sword!

_Magic._

She could use her magic!

Thrusting her arm behind her, she shouted a spell and flames erupted from her hand. She shouted again and lightening shocked them. Nevertheless, she screamed for her brothers. Only they could protect her.

A dagger flew from the flames; lodging itself in her back. She yelped, but kept running. Her white satin night dress slowly gained the color red.

"THOR! LOKI!" her screams were getting desperate.

More monsters – cut and burned – surrounded her. Crying she shouted a spell; killing one with an ice dagger. She began to shout again, only a slimy and calloused hand clamped over her mouth. Its stench nearly made her faint. Its hands moved to her elbows and pulled her away. She screamed and screamed for her brothers. She could not cast spells if her arms were bound.

Over the roaring flames and helpless screams, she heard someone shout her name in the distance.

She saw her father, dressed in armor splattered with blood, riding Sleipnir toward them. The stallion's eight hooves made the ground quake. Odin's aged face was darkened and full of rage. Sleipnir looked as if he was raised from the underworld.

"DADDY!" she shouted. Surely if her brothers aren't here, Odin would save her. She screamed over and over again for her daddy. Each time it felt as if a knife twisted itself in Odin's chest. He would not lose his only daughter to these cretins.

The monster holding her grumbled something to his comrades. They grunted and nodded in understanding. All but one of them stayed behind to fight the King of Asgard and his steed.

"DADDY!" she screamed one last time before the two monsters walked through a portal of sorts. That would be the last time she saw her home and father how a long while.

As the swirling portal closed bit by bit Odin ran desperately to it, shouting her name again and again. His one eye was full of panic that only a parent knows. "NO!" with a last attempt, he leaped and skitted on the cold earth. He looked around helplessly, shouting for his daughter and for those monsters to show themselves to fight like real men.

No one answered him. Sleipnir snorted beside him, the monsters dead behind them.

The chaos that erupted that night slowly diminished into nothing. The flames were doused and the monsters were destroyed. Guards were posted at every door and patrolled the streets in groups of ten. No one, absolutely no one, spoke to the King and Queen of their lost child.

Thor demanded there be blood spilt. Lives for a life, he wanted war.

Loki wanted the same, although less animated about it.

Both were torn and hurt, however they demanded that their sister be saved. They could fight, they said. They _should_ fight! They would fight to bring her back home! The Warriors Three and Lady Sif stood by them; they'd fight for her too.

"No," Odin said and left for his chambers. His wife refused to leave her chambers; mourning the loss of her daughter.

They had their palace sorcerer create a potion, which was poured into the goblets of those who knew the Princess well. Expect the King and Queen and Heimdall. They drank it and over the night, the memories of the Princess faded away.

Thor did not have a younger twin sister whom he trained with a sword and shield. Nor would he remember those days of carrying her to the healers or her crawling into his bed due to a nightmare. They all faded away.

Loki did not have an older sister whom he trained with magic and read with. Nor would he remember those smiles and laughter he loved hearing after a prank he had done to a friend. They all faded away.

Lady Sif would not recall the night she fled to her friend and Princess, crying over the loss of her hair and how ugly the new color was. She would not remember the Princess' kind words on how lovely the ebony locks was and that she would pay a visit to Loki. Lady Sif would not know how many laughs and girlish giggles they shared. Her memories of the Princess faded away.

Volstagg would not remember all the delectable sweets the Princess would make. Nor would he remember telling her tales of his great heroism or the shine in her big blue eyes. He would not remember a gentle voice to tell the story again or him acting it out as he went. Those memories all faded away.

Fandral would not remember his shameless and harmless flirts with the Princess. He would not remember the little giggles and awkward flirts she gave in return. He would not remember her telling him that he must stop his antics if he wished for a suitable wife. Those memories of his Princess faded away.

Hogun would not remember his quiet friend sitting in the corner as he sharpened his blades. He would not remember the small smiles he received and gave in return; she would never boast of her "accomplishment" to anyone. That was why he respected her; she never boasted about anything. Those memories faded away.

The guards would not remember bell-like laughter ringing through the halls or gentle clicking of heeled shoes or her soft humming.

The townspeople forgot about her; she rarely made an appearance to them. They merely thought she was a ghost of sorts.

Odin and Frigga saw to it that her room be forbidden to anyone; fearing that if they saw it they'd remember. Although, some nights, one could hear sniffling and chocked sobs come from the Forbidden Room. Everything was as it used to be when she resided in it. The chair she always sat at for meals in the grand hall – next to Thor – was empty. It was an empty chair at a full table.

Without her, without the Princess of Asgard, the bond between Thor and Loki dwindled and shook. Many things have happened in those short years: Thor was banished to Midgard, Odin fell into sleep, Loki became King of Asgard, Loki told Thor their father was dead and he could never come back to Asgard, Thor did go back though, and, after an epic battle between two brothers, Loki "died." After another set of short years, Loki attempted to control Midgard. Only he was defeated by New York's Avengers: Iron Man, the Incredible Hulk, Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Thor. There seemed to be nothing between the two of them now, and neither knew exactly why.


	2. Twenty-Five Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been twenty-five years since those monsters attacked Asgard.

"Oh my gawd! This is so good!" I say through a mouthful of greasy, delicious hotdog. My eyes roll into the back of my head and my eyes flutter in ecstasy. How long has it been since I had something so unhealthy and so good?

"How can you even eat that?" Madison asks besides me, skepticism drips from each word.

Swallowing the goodness that I have been deprived of for probably years, I glance at her with a cocky grin on my glossy lips. "Easy," I say, lifting the hotdog to my lips, "like this! Omnononom." I bite off another large chuck of the hotdog, moaning.

"That's not what I meant, smartass. I meant how can you eat a hotdog that has mustard-"

I cut her off. "They're _supposed_ to!"

"Not what I'm getting at, Tessa. It has mustard _and_ ketchup _and_ freakin' relish! Plus,"

I lick my lips, catching a bit of the odd mixture she stated, and look at her once she pauses. Her hazel eyes scan over the crowded sidewalk.

"You got it from a New York sidewalk vendor." Her concerned whisper is nearly lost with the chaos surrounding us.

"So?" I take another bite, being less animated about it.

"So, who knows where it's been! Flies could've crawled over it, he could've sneezed or coughed on it, or-or others could've touched it. And God knows where _those_ people have been."

I roll my eyes at her. "You and I both know that my immune system is kickass. I'm absolutely positive that I won't get sick."

"Okay, but what about your diet?"

There's a brief pause as I eat my hotdog. "Not on it anymore," I say once I can talk through the food. I swallow. "'Sides, I won't be working for awhile with this," I raise my bandaged arm, "thing. Not many directors and movie producers want that. You know, we have to extremely and oddly beautiful. Ugly scars really take away from that. Gawd, I need a Dr. Pepper." I walk on my toes to gaze over the heads of people; hoping to see another vendor.

"Couldn't you wear long sleeves? And that's from the thing you're eating."

"I know. And no, I can't; my boobs are too big." I finish the last bite of my hotdog, crumbling the wax paper.

She lets out an exasperated sigh and shakes her head. "I've known you all our lives and that is your excuse for not wearing them. Yet, you wear them when you're a "different person" and your signature red trench coat."

"'Cause they customize them for me! Normal mall clothes make me look like… like… horrible! As for my coat, I look good in that." I dramatically flip my hair over my shoulder.

Madison smirks at my reasoning, rolling her eyes at me. "Whatever. You want that soda of yours?" she asks once we near another vendor.

"Yeah. You want anything?" I ask, taking out my blue clip-wallet. The large red Superman 'S' stands out against Superman's shade of blue.

"Sure, but I'm buying it." She fishes out her own wallet. It's a long, clip hot pink and black Hello Kitty wallet.

"Fine." I groan, knowing it's not possible to argue with her. Even though I make more than enough for the both of us to be living on our own in New York City she always refuses to accept my money. Including the times where our rent is due. I guess I should consider myself lucky for having a (non-famous) friend like her. How much does a part-time baker and part-time janitor make anyway?

"I'll take a Diet Coke, please." Madison hands over her money as the dark skinned man gives her, her soda.

"And I'll take a regular Dr. Pepper." I chirp, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I'm always eager to drink my favorite soft drink.

"Hey," he shouts, pointing at me and eyes beaming, "you're Tessa Maberry!"

My instinctive fake smile stretches across my lips and my eyes shine. "That would be me."

"Oh my God, can I get your picture?" he's nearly trembling.

"How 'bout this," I step closer, fake smile still in place, "we trade. Your Dr. Pepper for our picture together and the amount I owe you?"

"Deal!" he hands me my soda and he takes out his cell; I hand him the amount I owe.

"Madison," I turn to her, deeply apologetic. This wasn't what I thought of when we agreed to walk around and talk. Maybe we should've stayed home and watched chic-flicks. "Do you mind?" I smile sheepishly. By now people of various ages and races are circling around us; taking their own pictures of me.

She screws her soda bottle's cap back, while shaking her head. "Not at all." Taking the cell phone from the jittery man's fingers, she tells us to smile as I lean close to the vendor man. He smells odd.

People often said my smile is worth a million dollars and is sometimes blinding. For a random pose, I hold up my beverage. There's a flash of light, followed by a soft click. Madison shows us the picture. "Like it?"

The man's smile is wide and beaming, teeth slightly crooked and he has noticeable dimples. Black hair held back in dreads with colorful beads at the end. His shirt is loose, short-sleeved, and bright orange with a smiley face wearing sunglasses. His thumbs are up, showing his white sweat wrist bands. His chocolate brown eyes are just as bright as his smile.

My smile is as it always has been; white and beautiful. My thick blonde hair is over my shoulders, one side is tucked behind my studded ear; showing my silver angel wing and diamond earring. My silver short-sleeved shirt hugs my torso with a modest scoop. Without me being behind a high counter, people can see my navy blue skinny jeans. No one would even tell how I feel in that frozen moment; my bright blue eyes are glimmering with joy.

"Yeah," he says, "it's perfect! Thank you." He smiles down at me.

I shake my head. "No problem. Thanks, for the soda." I smile, gently waving my drink.

"Welcome!"

Madison and I give one last smile before quickly leaving the scene. Handing my drink to Madison, I fish out my oversized sunglasses. Like a Hollywood movie star, I flip open the temples (sides of the glasses) and slide them on my face. "I can't believe this," I mutter.

My lifelong friend hands me back my drink. It creates a soft hiss once I open it. After a delicious sip of the overly carbonated drink, I look at her. "I am so sorry, Madi." She can't tell now through the dark lenses, but my eyes can show how sorry I am.

"I know." She gently hits my bicep, chuckling. "You can't help how famous you are, nor can you blame your fans for wanting a picture of you."

I sling my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I love you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do."

She doesn't shrug off my arm. I do step a little bit away, so we can walk without tripping over each other. The people around us can no longer see my face in its entirety; therefore, they don't stop us and ask for my picture. They just go about their normal business – laughing, smiling, joking, holding hands, and looking at the sights. No even pays mind to the fact that it's gray out and someone's wearing sunglasses.

"Do you think it's gonna rain?" Madison looks up at the sky, there's a small inkling of fear across her face. Her fear of thunder and lightning getting the best of her, she steps closer to me.

We pause in our walk, both looking up, letting the other pedestrians walk by us in a blur. Past the high buildings and haze of smoke, there's a gray sky with a passing of white clouds. I raise a brow and my lips remain in a line.

"I don't know." I say. "The weather's been like this since that alien attack. What was it? Three months ago?" Looking at her I see her nod. "There hasn't been a bad thunderstorm yet, I think. Just light rain and gray skies. Hm, I wonder if it's like this everywhere."

"Then can we go back home and watch those movies? I don't wanna be caught in the rain." We continue our walk, shoulders bumping with other shoulders. I keep a tight grip on my bag and eye the people that walk past.

"Sure."

I elbow our way through the mass of people, ignoring the grunts and angered shouts. Madison raises her arm shouting for a taxi, while I take a gulp of my soda and washing the taste of the hotdog out of my mouth. I watch as each yellow and black car drives by and my friend become more and more irritated. She starts to wave her hand around frantically, shouting more and more. She yells in frustration once another one goes by. She takes a swig of her soda. How is it that no one would pick her up?

Looking her up and down, I see nothing wrong. Pixie cut brown hair with a hot pink streak on the left side of her hair, which surrounds an oval shaped face with minimum amount of make-up (courtesy of yours truly) to show her natural beauty. She's dressed in a rosy brown floral shirt, a dark brown skirt that falls to her knees, and wedges. There's nothing particularly wrong with her, or her outfit.

"That's it!" she shouts, flailing her arms up, and stomps back to me. "I give up!"

Chuckling, I hand her my drink. "Let me try."

She grumbles something I can't exactly understand, but takes my soda nonetheless.

I stand near the curb and watch the cars pass. Quickly, I stick my middle finger and thumb into my mouth and let out a sharp whistle. After which I shout, raising my arm in the air, "HEY, YO, TAXI!"

Three taxi cabs stop in front of me. They all shout at one another, yelling profanities, honking their horns.

I try my best not to laugh or blush at the sight I created.

"Ooh," Madison sticks her finger on my shoulder and quickly recoils it, letting out a mock "heat hiss." "The girl is hot!"

Laughing to ease the awkward, we enter the taxi closest to us. Madison tells him the address and we're soon off. Throughout the entire ride we're silent, only to answer the few questions the taxi driver asks, and I keep my sunglasses on. I look out at all the people and buildings.

I wonder how many of them are without homes and how many of them lost someone during the attack. What was that oddly human-looking alien's motive anyway? What was the point of even attempting to taking over New York and, without a doubt, the world? My arm and hips just hurt thinking about the incident.

At least the Avengers were there. It's hard to believe that there are superheroes out there (the ones that actually wear capes and have secret identities) and are willing to risk their lives for people they don't even know. A part of me can't even believe Tony Stark is one of them; him being an egotistical, playboy jerk and all.

I really should do something nice for him and the rest of the Avengers. Maybe I could bake something? I'll give them to Stark to share with the rest. That sounds like a good plan. I could help rebuild Manhattan, too. I've been putting my money to some charities, why not something similar? Yeah, I'll do that too.

"Tessa," something cold and wet is pressed against my arm.

"Yipe!" I jerk my arm away and rub the area, glaring at my friend.

She smiles cheekily and tells me we're home, and that she already paid. Sighing I hand the cab driver a ridiculous tip once she's out. Honestly, whatever happened to us splitting stuff?

"So," I begin, tugging off my boots with my feet at the doorway, "what movies do you wanna watch?" I kick them away and go back into my room to put on more comfortable pants.

"I dunno, what haven't we seen in a while?"

My bare feet don't make much sound on the wooden hall floor as I make my way back, changed into short black yoga pants. My sunglasses back inside my purse and my earrings are back in my jewelry box, which are in my room. I slide my finger across my iPhone, looking through my contacts to order pizza. I've been strangely hungry lately. "Something funny, that's for sure. Lately we've been watching movies like _The Notebook_ or _Titanic_. I can't take that much crying anymore." I flop down on our overstuffed, yet very comfortable sofa and place my Dr. Pepper on a coaster in front of me.

"Okay…," she looks through our movie library, "how about…. Oh! _Underworld_!" she holds up our _Underworld Trilogy_ DVD set. "It's full of real, non-sparkling vampires and real, kickass werewolves." She sings, waving the movie.

I smile, already liking the idea. "Yeah. Let's order some pizza and then pop in some popcorn. Do you want the usual?"

"Yep!"

I finally find the number to our favorite pizza place. "Yes, hi. I'd like to place an order for," I tell him our address, noting how disappointed his tone changed once he realized it's outside the city.

"Alright, what would you like?"

"I'd like one large plain pizza and another large cheese-steak pizza, each with a side of crispy fries. Cheese on the side for them. Nothing to drink."

He replays my order, checking to make sure he's gotten everything.

I nod, even though he can't see it. "Yes, that's right."

"Okay, that'll be twenty-five seventy and it'll be there in an hour and a half."

"Thanks." I cancel the call and look up at Madison. "I'm paying and we got an hour and a half." Since she paid for the drive here, I'm paying for our dinner.

"Cool," she flops down next to me, taking a big gulp of her Diet Coke. After a small burp she asks, "What are your plans now that you're on hiatus?"

I frown, looking down at my arm. "I was thinking about helping Manhattan in its rebuilding and maybe do something nice for the Avengers. It sucks that I can't really work with this lovely forming scar on my arm. Hopefully, it'll heal fast and I can go back to acting. It feels like I just started my career, too." I pout at her and try to ease the pain with a gulp of my drink.

"That's 'cause you did – five years ago."

We spill into a long conversation much like we always do. This time, instead of each of us ranting about a co-workers or our boss, we talk about how much our lives have changed in the short of five years. We moved to New York four and a half years ago, each with our own set of goals. With a motivation that broke my heart, I was able to land a role that jumpstarted my acting career and was soon the most sought out for fantasy, assassin, and mage-like roles. Madison is still fighting to achieve hers.

**~ Asgard ~**

Another day passes in Asgard. The sun slowly sinks behind the tall, pale buildings and mountain line. The sky is painted in reds, oranges, and shapes of pink and purple. Only it holds no glory for the King and Queen of this realm. It was lost years ago.

Frigga stands in the Forbidden Room gently holding her lost daughter's favorite princess doll. The one Odin got for her many centuries ago when he came back home. Its hair is long and golden, braided over her shoulder, with pale colored flowers braided into it. The dress it wears is a beautiful wedding gown fit for royalty; dressed in ivory and gold. A tiara sits on its head, fake stones shine dully in the sunset, and a sheer white veil cascades down behind it. Its eyes are a deep blue and its make-up is notable but pretty.

The Queen drops to her knees beside the bed and holds the soft doll to her breast. Tears drop from her eyes and onto her dress. Frigga misses her only daughter so much! Her heart cracks and breaks each day she isn't found. Those monsters were slaughtered long ago; however, it could not bring the Princess back. They never speak her name; fearing it will bring back those sweet (and bitter) memories to everyone that was given the potion. Just as they have no one enter this room. There are too many memories.

Frigga remembers those precious times when she found her daughter and Loki playing chess in this room or reading peacefully together with the weather was not in their favor. She found Thor consoling the young Princess after an incident they would not share – a twin's secret they said. She remembers how her daughter would cry at night when she was a baby and would come in to give her peace. Odin often rocked their daughter to sleep in this room. She can still see him sitting by the fireplace, rocking back and forth, and hear him gently humming a song.

_How different would our lives be if she were still here?_ Frigga always found a way to think that thought, ever since…. Ever since with what happened with Loki. Would her daughter have been able to calm him like she always had and avoid such devastations? Would she have been able to talk Thor out of going to Jotunheim? Surely, she would have.

"Frigga," Odin silently shuts the door behind him and walks up to his crying wife. Crouching down, he cradles her tear-stained face with his rough hands. "What ails you?"

Such a silly question, for they both know what is wrong and what always will be wrong.

"How long must we wait, Odin? How long must we bare the ache that is inside our hearts and souls? It has been too long and I fear my heart cannot take much more of this pain." Her throat is clenched, tight with tears.

The King gingerly wipes his thumbs across her soft cheeks. "You know as well as I do that our daughter still lives. Remember, when you came to me the day our soldiers were about to give up the search? You said you could feel it in your soul that she is alive and that we mustn't give up, for our beloved daughter and Princess is out there. Somewhere." He kisses her forehead, before continuing. "I feel it, too. I have felt that connection for twenty-five years now. Our daughter, and Princess, is alive and she will return to us and be with us once again."

The tears are now slowly trekking down her face. "How much longer must we wait, though? I grow restless with each passing day, fearing the worst of what has come to pass."

Odin shakes his head. "I do not know, dear wife of mine. The realms are a large place to search and require much attention. Our men do their best to search for our daughter and their lost Princess of Asgard. We can only hope and pray that she is well – wherever she is."

Together they stand, holding the other's hand. Frigga gently places the doll down exactly as she had found it – on the bed, resting against the plush pillows. They are carefully as the walk across the rugs; carefully not to bring anything out of place. For this room is frozen in a memory for them, and if that memory is carelessly ruined then… what else would they have of their daughter?


	3. Gentle Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a gentle voice whispering in Thor's ear.

Rock music greets my ears. I groan and rub my eyes, trying to will the sleep away. The rock music seems to grow louder as I fully wake up. Blinking at the white words scrolling down on the black screen, I turn my attention to the other occupant curled up on the sofa. I gently nudge her with my foot.

"Hey," my voice is laced with sleep. Rolling onto my back, I rub my eyes; lifting the haze around me. "Madi, you awake?"

She groans, rolling away from the TV.

I roll my eyes back to our coffee table and look at the two empty boxes of pizza and empty bag of fries. I literally fall off our couch with a grunt. My knees crack as I get up. Placing my hands on my lower back I crack my spine. Once I my joints are able to move and the tingle feeling my legs go away, I walk down the dark fall with one thought in my mind.

_Bathroom._

I had way too much soda the last few hours and, not wanting to miss a thing of _Underworld_ , I fell asleep with a full bladder. Not a good idea. Thankfully, nothing too bad happened. Flicking on the bathroom light, I'm briefly blinded.

After relieving myself, I walk back to the dark living room the TV the only source of light and sound. I let out a soft yelp of surprise when my foot comes in contact with something smooth and round. Gently kicking the random wine bottle away I walk back to the sofa.

 _When was wine brought into the picture?_ Not thinking of an answer, search the coffee table for the remote.

"Aha!" Lifting the DVD remote controller, I stop the end credits and back to the Main Menu. I smile at the sight of the hotness that is Lucian, the music softer now. He's a lean, muscular man with long dark hair and matching scruff – plus his endearing personality: loyal and protective. Shame he's not real.

I turn my attention back to Madison, whose sleeping peacefully. Knowing she'll ache in the morning, I turn her onto her back. Ignoring her sleepy groans, I tuck my arms under her upper back and knees. I carry her back to her room.

Flopping her down on her bed I take off her shoes and carefully pull the covers down for her to sleep under, muttering under my breath as I do so.

"You better appreciate this; otherwise, I'm leaving you on the couch next time."

After closing her blinds, I walk back to the living room. I won't be able to sleep if I know it's a mess. Sometimes I wish I could just call room service or something so they'll clean it up. Pity I wasn't born a princess of something somewhere.

Not wanting to wake my friend up (she's a real bitch and a half when she just wakes up), I keep the main ceiling light off and continue to use the TV for the light source and background noise. The left over cheese in the pizza boxes are cold, hard, and glued to the cardboard, so is the dipping cheese for our once there fries. Our bottles of soda have nothing in them, and the mysterious wine bottle is empty as well. Looks like Madi is going to work with a hangover tomorrow. Hopefully, her boss isn't a complete douche bag.

By the time everything is out – either in the trash or recycling – my bandaged arm is sore. Turning off the television, finally, I walk into the bathroom. This time I'm not blinded by the bright white lights. Briefly, I look in the mirror to see what the couch has done to me. My make-up is smudged around my eyes and bits of my blonde hair are sticking out at odd angles. I wash my face with a warm, clean washcloth coated with soap to rid myself of these raccoon eyes. Carefully, I rinse the soapy water from my face and dry it. I quickly brush my hair; my arm slowly begins to gain a pulse in it. I throw my long locks into a low ponytail, before unwrapping my right forearm. The white bandages fall onto the counter top and I'm met with an ugly wound that will scar. The start of it is in the middle, but the tear runs down to my elbow. Droplets of red bead to the surface of the scabbing. I run my arm under the warm water spewing out of the faucet, and dry it with the towel. The doctors told me that continuously cleaning it will reduce the risk of infection and scarring and promote healing. I haven't gotten an infection and it's healing, but with how large it is I'm afraid my career as an actress is over. No amount of body make-up can hide this!

_Stupid alien attack._

I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, as most people say. The attack was essentially over, but the aftershocks and lower criminals wanted some "free" stuff. Being the good civilian I am, I tried to stop a small group of them from taking electronically devices. The policemen and firemen were already so busy with more important things; I didn't see the need to call for help. I confronted them in the middle of the empty street. The largest man out of all of them punched my jaw; sending me flying back into the building behind me. I blacked out when my head hit something too solid.

When I woke-up, I was pinned under cement and rubble. Laying on my side with my right arm stretched out in front of me; caused my hips and legs to badly bruise and for me to seeing a pole penetrating my arm and the sharp edge of cement rock running down my arm. The sight, amount of blood pouring from the area, and the immense amount of pain caused me to scream so loud I'm sure some poor old people had a heart attack.

I can still hear the sound of rushing footsteps sprinting towards me. _"Ma'am, are you alright?"_ his voice was so kind and caring I couldn't bring myself to yell at him.

I did groan though. _"I'm still alive, aren't I?"_

He let out a small laugh, sound of the rocks and metal moving above me. _"Judging that you're talking and holding a conversation, I'd say you are."_

I'd let out a yelp when the pole was removed from my arm. _"Shit!"_ I hissed.

 _"Are you all right?"_ A different, Shakespearian voice sounded in front of me.

I was able to jerk my arm back once the cement on it was removed; I cradled it to my chest. _"Uh-hum."_ Even though they couldn't see me, I nodded.

I couldn't see for a minute or two with the afternoon sun blazing down on me. The men that had helped me got the last few large bits of the building off my person. Large rough hands slowly lifted me up. I could tell he was being exceedingly gentle with me. Through the haze that shrouded me, I could hear a very familiar voice talking to someone and that someone not replying. A phone conversation?

 _"Are you able to walk, mi'Lady?"_ the Shakespeare voice again.

I slowly blink my eyes; gaining the ability to see again. I place my uninjured arm on his shoulder for support and take a step forward. My legs gave out and my teeth clenched at the amount of blinding pain shooting up from them.

 _"No,"_ I whimpered.

The large man, whose face I have yet to meet, lifts me up – his arm under my legs and under my upper back. He carries me across the street and into a… shawarma restaurant? That was where I met the Avengers for the first time (aside from Stark). They'd bandaged my arm and let me wait for the ambulance to show up; whom Stark was talking to when I was pulled out of the rubble.

After popping two pain pills and washing it back with tap water, I throw the used towel and wash cloth into the hamper. I let my arm breath for tonight; deciding it'd be best if I do. The bruises and cuts have long since disappeared and my legs and hips can handle walking again. Now if only the one on my arm would go away!

Laying in my bed, I look up at my arm. I visited the doctors a few weeks ago and he said was healing surprisingly fast and well; the pole created a deep wound and the doctors thought it would've taken years to fully heal. Then, it was months. Now, it'll only be a few weeks. Personally, I don't see it. All I see is an ugly scar that could have me working for my parents again back in New Jersey.

I love my parents with all that I am, and I love working on our family farm. However, I love pretending/acting more. I love pretending to be someone and something that I'm not, living somewhere that doesn't exist in this world. I can be a princess, an assassin, an elf, someone from a different time, a space traveler, and so much more! My parents always told that from the moment they held me they knew I was going to do great things. Something tells me that working on a farm with horses, goats, pigs, and chickens isn't exactly greatness.

I flop my arm back down to my side and stare blankly at my star-glowing ceiling. Madison may hate thunderstorms, but I hate the dark. I hate not being able to find a small inkling amount of light in pitch black darkness. When I was growing up, and kids my age were throwing away their nightlights, I tried to get over my fear.

I couldn't. Thankfully, no one thinks twice about glow in the dark stars on someone's ceiling. They all just think they're there for decoration. As a song enters my head, the words missing, but the gently tune humming in my head, my eyes close. I'm a little girl again. I can hear my dad humming softly and his steady heartbeat in my ear. I can feel the warmth of his hands cradling me close. We're rocking back and forth on the rickety rocking chair. The lullaby and the memories, lull me to a sleepless slumber.

**~ Asgard ~**

Thor remains seated in the dining hall alone. Last meal has ended several hours ago and thus his friends and parents left to retire to their beds. The servants clean the empty plates and full table around him, some eye the Prince of Asgard but go about their duties. He remains seated in his chair with a blank, concentrating look on his face, staring at the one seat that has been forever empty beside him. He has not asked why no one ever sits beside him or why no one is allowed to sit near him. It simply has always been empty, even when he was a small lad. There are no plates or goblets before this chair, nor has there ever been, yet it remains out. As if it was waiting for someone to sit within it.

If he closes his eyes, Thor can see and hear someone sitting next to him. Amongst the many voices and differing laughter, he can hear a soft and gentle voice as sweet as honey. He can't see her face, just her silhouette. Her voice is so soft; he can barely hear it as he eats. Once the meals are over, he can hear her as if the meals are still going on. She laughs and talks to someone around her, her words are lost to him though. They fall from her lips, but he can't understand them. All he knows is that, the sound and tone are oddly familiar to him.

"Mi'Lord," asks a servant, disturbing Thor's moment of thought. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Thor says his voice a deep rumble, opening his eyes. "Leave me, so that I may think."

"Of course." The servant bows at the waist and the rest take their leave. The massive double doors shut with a gentle click.

The voice has not stopped speaking. Thor knows that this mysterious being is a woman; the soft voice and how sweet it sounds. No man is able to have such a voice. And no man's voice is able to have such a warmth blossom in his chest and spread throughout his body. No man can have such a dainty silhouette. And no man's form can make Thor fiercely protective.

 _"Thor!"_ the voice sounds far away from the dining hall. _"Thor Odinson!"_ It's so musical; the voice, the gentle laughter.

In the dark corners of his mind, Thor knows this voice. He can hear and understand her now. But where has he heard her before? Why is it so familiar to him?

Thor stands abruptly causing the chair to spill over behind him. His eyes jerk this way and that, trying to find the maiden.

 _"Thor!"_ She's right outside the double doors.

He runs quickly to the double doors, throwing them open. He's met with empty air. Standing tall, he enters the empty hall. His brows are knitted together and a frown tugs at his lips as he looks down that corridor.

"What jest is this," he growls, eyes blazing. "Who are you? Show yourself!" he demands.

There's a giggle down a ways. _"Come along now, Thor! Before someone sees us."_

"STOP!" Thor runs down the hall, shouting at the person he cannot see. She says his name again when he stops at the palace's threshold, begging him to hurry. With a growl, Thor bellows down the steps and runs over the grassy hills ordering whoever is there to stop. Perhaps it would've been best if he gotten a horse beforehand.

 _"Thor!"_ the maiden cries within the dark woods. By now, the sun has fully fallen and Thor's left standing in the dark. _"Thor?"_

The Prince of Asgard has never known the meaning of the word "fear." Now, a strange sensation bubbles in his core. He… fears that this maiden (whom he has never met or heard of) has been hurt and is somehow calling out to him. Thor passes the bushes and trees, his eyes sweep over what they can in the darkness. One hand brushes over leaves and bark, while the other waves out before him. If need be, he'll summon Mjölnir and slay any beast that dare crosses him. The woods and these actions are familiar to him somehow. The dark corners of his mind are slowly being dusted of cobwebs and light seeps through cracks of steel.

 _"Thor?"_ she weakly calls out, once he's standing in a circular clearing. The maiden is right beside him now; he can sense it. Feel it. _"Thor, are you here?"_

"Yes," his voice is soft now as he stares at the empty space before him. "I am here. Do not worry, mi'Lady." A small, smooth hand slips into his. He gently squeezes it in reassurance.

 _"You won't leave me, will you?"_  
  
Something within him tells him—yells at him, to protect her. "I will never leave you."

He can't see her, but he knows she's smiling.

"THOR!"

The corner of his mind is quickly shut off again; flooding with darkness and the spiders return to rebuild their homes. The maiden's silhouette shatters to fine empty air and the hand within his melts away.  
Guards, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif stand behind him with their weapons drawn. They look around the clearing with calculating eyes.

"We heard you shouting at someone," says Fandral, stepping up to his friend. "Is something wrong?"

 _He shouldn't be here. None of them should._ A voice whispers to him.

"No," Thor cannot tell anyone about the voice he's been hearing. "Everything is all right."

"Are you sure?" Sif asks, concern laced in her big brown eyes.

"Yes, you may return to your quarters and rest. I am deeply sorry for disturbing everyone."

Slowly, almost unsure, everyone returns to the castle; leaving their Prince a beat behind.

Thor looks around the clearing. He can see balls of white light within the trees and bushes. He can hear the sounds of metal clashing and pained grunts. He can see her silhouette again; she twirls and slashes her sword down and blocks an incoming attack. This is all so familiar, yet Thor cannot remember it entirely.

Déjà vu, Midgardians call it.


	4. Soft Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a soft touch upon Loki's cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank Cknobby23 and the three guest who have given this story some kudo's. Cknobby23 and TheRedL4dy thank you for bookmarking this story. Another thank you to all the hits I've gotten from writing this story; all of these make me feel like I'm doing something right. I know I haven't posted my other works on this site (which I'm very thankful for), but this is something I've never done before.
> 
> **Fair warning, Tessa will start using adult lanuage. If you find it offensive just remember that others do use this type of lanuage; me included.** This is why _PoA_ is rated 'M' -- along with future chapters. ;)

The one bad thing about living so far out from the city, and having neighbors that have trees, are the annoying, singing birds! Seriously, how's a woman my age suppose to enjoy her day off and catch up on her beauty sleep? No matter how hard you beg, plead, kick and scream, or pray, they won't stop conversing. It's downright infuriating! With all their annoying "tweet this" and "tweet that" it's a wonder how they haven't discovered Twitter. I'm always tempted to borrow Dad's or Uncle Pete's bee-bee gun and shoot at the trees. Sadly, that would make me look like a hypocrite for harming animals.

Groaning like a five year old, I throw the covers over my head and roll away from the window. I forgot to close the blinds last night. Something only someone who (me) did a nice thing for a friend (Madison) would do. I knew I should've left Madi on the couch last night. I'd let the rising sun and the stupid birds be her alarm clock.

I can already hear her shuffle about outside my room, cleaning up what I missed in the dim lighting and throwing away the trash it sounds like. Then, she'll go to work – either for Sweety's Bakery or Stark Industries. I can't remember which it is today. Either way, her boss will be a jerk. Despite Shawn's last name being "Sweety" he leaves a sour taste in your mouth. His treats are sweet though, that's a plus.

My door creaks as it opens. Something falls and Madi swears, before fumbling with something and placing it on the end table near my bed. My door creaks again.

"Leave it," I grunt.

Madi mumbles an apology.

I shake my head, kicking off my blankets. "Don't be sorry, those damn birds woke me up before you got the chance to." My bare feet come in contact with plush carpeting. "What are you doing in my room anyway?" though I'm sitting up, I refuse to fully get out of bed.

"Returning your cell." Madi points to my Captain America cased phone. "You left it in the living room. Your arm is looking a lot better."

Looking down, I see that she's right. Instead of a shallow groove, which was there last night when I cleaned it, the scabbing is now level with my skin. Still ugly as shit, but it's healing surprisingly wonderful. "Thanks…."

_I wonder how this is happening. My immune system must be feeling extra kickass._

"Hey," I call out, stumbling over my feet to my door, "where are you working today?"

"Cleaning up after Stark," Madi groans in the kitchen. "Why didn't you save me any pizza?" she shouts upon opening our overly stuffed fridge.

I find my footing and walk down the short hall. "'Cause I didn't know I'd be that hungry."

"You even ate all the fries!"

"You had some!" I flop down in our Lazy Boy recliner, curling up and turning on the TV. I instantly change it to TBS, watching a _Marvel_ movie.

"Yeah, 'some' is being the key word there."

"Smartass."

Madi sighs, rummaging through cupboards and the fridge. "I guess I can make something. You think you can manage making lunch and dinner?"

"Sure thing. I can't grantee it'll be on time though. Once I'm awake and can walk without stumbling over my two feet, I'm going out. I'll probably eat out." I rest my head in my hand, staring at her back. She's already dressed in her janitor's uniform. One of these days she'll create something worth Stark's while.

"Okay," she gets her lunch box and purse. "I'm off. Try not to destroy the place while I'm gone."

"Damn, there go my plans!" I say sarcastically, turning to watch _Spiderman_.

"Bye~!" she calls, closing the door.

"Bye." I grunt, eyes watching the screen. The first commercial comes on and I quickly get a box of chocolate poptarts to eat as I watch.

The sound of a vehicle rumbles down the road – a taxi no doubt. We (stupidly) walked all day yesterday. Surprisingly, my legs aren't that sore though. I guess all those years working on a farm and riding horses paid off in the long run. I hope Madi will be okay today; walking around and cleaning all day must be very hurtful to her legs. _Well, at least they'll be good looking._

I chuckle at the thought; knowing it's true.

After watching the first Spiderman movie in its entirety, I go get dressed. Even being home alone, I keep my door shut and blinds down. I feel like someone's always looking at me – searching for me – as of late. I told Madi this once and she told me I was A) being paranoid and B) I'm famous now, it's natural.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," I say to myself, just like I told her.

Dressed in my black Victoria Beckham denim skinny jeans and black Jane Norman scoop neck top I search for something that won't make me so depressed looking. My (signature and favorite) red Nic+Zoe trench coat is hanging on the back of my door, and my black leather Giuseppe Zanotti over the knee boots are standing by my door. If I'm going to go out into the city, I wanna look good as I walk around.

"C'mon, where are you, you lil' shit?" I crawl along my floor, searching under my bed. I swing my arms back and forth; pushing away old scripts that I was allowed to keep, dusty movies and trinkets, a book about Norse mythology, and a bag of old and dated cell phones.

"Really?" I screech, holding up a picture of me and my old (jerk of a) boyfriend, "I have a picture of you, but I can't find my belt?" I toss it over my shoulder, ignoring that _thunk_ sound. I get up and throw open my large closet; my arms immediately go up to the top shelf to the far sides – on either side of my jeans, shorts, and skirts. How hard is it to find one belt?

"M—" I cut myself short, once I realize I was about to call out for my mom. I haven't called out to her in years! But, she always knows where my things are. _Gawd, I miss her._

Shaking my head I tear my drawers apart, shouting a victory yell when I find it. I clip the thick silver Pieces Opening Success around my waist. "Finally, found you, you lil' shit." I grin.

Practically skipping to the bathroom, I clean my teeth until they're sparkling white and brush my hair. My mom and several of my aunts and cousins always told me how jealous they were of my hair; long, thick, and no matter how much they tussled it or how much I roughed housed with my male cousins it would always fall back into perfect place. I never questioned it; I still don't and never will. Even though it might be a trait my birth parents have.

Once everything is transferred in my black and silver studded Giuseppe Zanotti bag, I zip up my boots and shrug on my coat. I leave a note for Madi on the kitchen table in case she beats me home. My large elegant script takes up the entire piece of paper.

_Hey,_

_I'm heading out (10am) and spending most of the day in the city. I'm gonna see if I can reach Tom. You feel like Chinese or KFC? Lemme, know around dinner time._

_< 3 Tessa_

For some reason, I can't break myself of the habit with drawing a large heart near my name.

…

The drive into the city is normal; smooth and my music softly singing from the car's speakers and the bundle of random things clink together. People walk on either sides of the road talking and laughing with each other. Cars speed by (making me wonder where the policemen are), honking loudly at other cars or pedestrians. The news on my radio comes on. They still talk about the Avengers – Tony Stark being Iron Man, someone deemed Captain America, and where they are now that Manhattan is destroyed. They talk about where the city's repaired state is and how long it'll take. With a sigh, I change the channel; being greeted with the "latest hit song."

…

Parallel parking (something I will always hate) in front of a bank, I gather my purse and put my keychain inside it. Carefully, getting out of my car I lock it up and scamper into the bank. The click of my heels is nearly lost by the soft chatter and rapid, soft typing of computer keys. Many banks and other places are holding fundraisers for the rebuild of Manhattan. All you simply have to do is say:

"I'd like to a deposit to help Manhattan." I say to the banker.

She looks up at me, eyes wide behind her thick rimmed glasses. "Miss Maberry?"

I smile at the recognition, nodding my head. "Yes, anyway the deposit?" I ask, quirking my brow up.

"Oh, yes, of course!" she signs me a slip of paper. "Please sign here with the amount you wish and your signature here." She gestures to each line with a ball-point pen.

"Okay." I take out a standby pen and sign. It's just like writing a check. I write a large, substantial amount of money on the top line with a lot of zeros. My hand flies across the lower line to fill in my name. "Here ya' go!" I hand it back, enjoying the look of shock on her face at the amount.

"Thank you so much, Miss Maberry!" she gushes.

"No problem," I beam. "I'm glad that I can help, even if it's just giving some money. Peace." I give her the universal peace out sign as I turn and leave through the revolving doors. With a huff I decide to walk down the block, ignoring my car.

"I hope my feet don't kill me for this." I sigh, looking down at my heeled shoes. The cowboy boots I always wore on the farm and walking (sometimes running) around the large grounds have hardened my feet and allowed to walk for hours. Acting – dressed in costume – has allowed me to walk, run, and perform tricks in heeled shoes. Hopefully, if I simply walk around the city for a few hours won't hurt them too much.

I walk against the flow of people until I reach the side I where I can go with people. The ever present scent of car smoke, deep fried stuff from side street vendors, and a mix of perfume and cologne nearly go unnoticed there so normal in a day. There's a constant mummer of people, which grow louder than softer. The go in and out of shows with many or little amount of shopping bags, laughing with friends. The sky is still shockingly gray and the streets are free of evidence of rain. Will it finally rain today or tonight? Even with all of its life, the gray sky is making New York City terribly boring. With everyone wearing dark shades (to either look slimmer or to match their mood) everyone looks… bleh. I glance down at my bright red coat and briefly wonder how this would like as a photo: a single drop of color in a sea of drab.

My feet carry me to Central Park and I smile at all the families there. Walking along the path, I discretely look at the parents and children wondering if any of them are adopted or were found on the side of the road as a baby with nothing but a silver key necklace. My thoughts lead to wonder how their lives are, if they're happy or sad, what they're parents do, if those people are they're parents and not they're aunt or uncle.

I stop and stare when a girl, no more than five years old it seems, runs up to her mom and dad crying with blood smeared on her knee. The dad holds her closely, kissing her temple, while the mom gently cleans it with an "emergency Chlorhex wipe." The mom places a band aid on the small cut and kisses it, followed by the dad. The little girl giggles and kisses her parents in return, before running off to play again. And I continue my walk; deep in thought.

_My parents used to do that when I was little,_ I recall with a small smile. I'd come crying to them if Joe or Max pushed me too hard and I fell, or if I fell off a horse (now realizing it was just a pony), or if I got a small paper cut. They were always there for me, and still are in most cases.

_Don't forget about you-know-who._ A voice whispers in the back of my mind. I shake my head; ridding myself of the depressing thought.

Gently patting my face I quickly leave the large park and speed walk down several more blocks until my calves are screaming at me to stop. I weakly walk up to a small food shop and plop down in one of the chairs that are guarding by the large umbrella. I keep my legs straight; letting them relax.

"I should hail a cab back to my car." I mutter to myself, wondering why I even left it near the bank in the first place. I glance through the thin menu on the table.

"Hi!" a bouncing, bubbling blonde suddenly appears out of nowhere beside me.

"Hello," despite her "dumb blonde" nature that gives other blonde's a bad name, I smile kindly at her.

Her brown eyes slowly grow wide and her mouth opens to form a small 'o;' she covers it with gaudy painted nails. "Oh my God," she sighs.

_Oh boy._

"You're Tessa Maberry!" she squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Oh my God," she roughly takes my hand and starts shaking it wildly. "May I just say I loved you in _Kingdoms to Come_ and _Sweet Dreams, Princess_ , those were my absolute faves!" she lets out an overdramatic gasp, an idea flutters across her mind. "Can I get my picture taken with you?" she asks, already taking out her camera or phone from her apron's pocket.

My free hand – of its own accord – crawls across the table to reach a nearby plastic fork. I make as if I'm about to stab/poke her with my small weapon, saying through smiling teeth, "No touchy."

With a tight, fake smile we lean in together and she snaps a shot of us.

She's grinning from ear to ear once she's standing back up, bouncing. "This is SO going on Facebook and Twitter!" her finger is already sliding across the smooth screen as she walks back into the small shop.

"So… no food?" I ask no one in particular with a pout on my lips. Huffing I fish out my cell phone, my index finger sliding across the screen until I see a familiar name. Pressing the "call" button I wait.

"Hey, this is Madison. Leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I blow a raspberry at hearing her answering machine. "Boo."

After the mechanic beep, I tell her, looking up at the gray and boring sky, "Yo, I didn't hear from you yet so I'm just gonna order some Chinese food for tonight. Don't worry I'll order extra-extra stuff. And if I'm not home before the food arrives, you know where I keep the cash."

_In my Green Lantern piggy bank._

"In the meantime," I continue, "I'll try to see where Tom's at, okay? Buh-bye!" I hang up and start texting the man we haven't heard from in weeks.

_Tessa: Did u disappear, Tommy-boy?_

A few minutes of me watching people (with an empty stomach) go by, until I get a reply.

_Tommy-Boy: No, & don't call me tht! U no I h8 tht! _

_Tessa: Srry, ;P it's just so cute! :) What happened to u?_

_Tommy-Boy: I've bn surrounded by pretty girls for months on end, taking their pics w/ em dressed in lil' clothing. W/ NO hot men to keep me company. …. I just got free a few wks ago; I've bn cing wut I missed in Paris. ;) French boys b bangin. Ooh lala~_

_Tessa: Gross. xP_

_Tommy-Boy: U asked._

_Tessa: TMI, dude, TMI._

_Tommy-Boy: *chuckles* Btw, how u holdin up? Last I heard u got an ugly scar._

I look down at the pale scab on my arm. The "tail" that led up to my elbow is no more, but what the pole had created is still there and healing at a fast pace. I know I should show some concern as to why it is feeling this way; I just can't bring myself to do so.

_Tessa: It's healing._

There's a long pause now between us, before I get a reply from him.

_Tommy-Boy: Thts good. Oi, when I get back u wanna go out?_

_Tessa: Sure! Just bring me back a str8 cutie. ;)_

_Tommy-Boy: Lol I'll c wut I can do._

_Tessa: K! ^-^ Thx, c u l8r._

_Tommy-Boy: C u! ^-^_

With a huff I stuff my cell back in my bag, happy to have reached him after not being to speak to him for months. I'm glad to know he's doing okay (and happy, but that sounds kinda wrong to say considering what he told me). Although I wish he would talk more when overseas – I did.

"At least he's having fun." I sigh out, standing. My nose scrunches up once I see the bouncing, bubbling, bottle blonde talking to another customer. Her overly white teeth are a stark contrast against her fake tan. Slinging my purse over my arm, I hail a taxi. "I'm not coming here again."

After a quick photo off with the cab driver, I stand huddled together next to a bunch of people waiting for the crosswalk signal to give the okay. The tint of my sunglasses hides the massive amount of the sun's glare off the glistening glass buildings. Yet, in spite of my clever disguise, I can hear the murmurs of my name from the people around me and see their quick and shy glances in the corner of my eye. A few children point at me, directing their parents' attention to me. I smile at their innocent cuteness. One little girl even said that "Princess Serena is here!" That widened my smile into a grin.

The red hand flashes into a white walking figure. With everyone else I walk across the road, a red dot in a sea of grown-up blob. Only the kids and I stand out – sad really if you think about it.

"Princess Tessa!" a small voice rings out from behind me.

Twisting my torso I smile at the bounding brunette coming towards me. I gracefully turn and lower to the asphalt, sliding my large sunglasses up my face to rest on my head. There's plenty of time to talk to this little girl.

Her arms are wide open as she runs to me; I open mine in return. I see in one hand is a piece of paper and in the other is a pen.

"Princess Tessa!" she screams again, colliding me in a hug.

"Hello!" I hug her in return. Smiling down at her I tuck a lock of her light hair behind her small ear. "What is your name, little princess?" My "princess character" slips out wonderfully for this little girl – proper and courteous to those all around her. I ignore the rushing people around me and the honking horns at the multiple intersections.

"Katy," she grins showing a missing tooth in a row of pearly whites.

"Katy? That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. What can I do for you, Princess Katy?" I smile and tilt my head at her.

"Can… can I have your… auto-autograph?" she shyly looks up at me, offering me a small hard-covered pale purple and Disney Princess notebook and a matching pen. As much as I dislike being the center of attention most days, I love all my fans. Especially the little princesses and princes.

"Of course you can!" I gently take the offerings and open it. I smile once I see that the first page is blank. If Katy ever gets the chance to go to Disney World (or Disney Land), this little notebook will soon be full with the names of classical princesses and princes. I scribble my flowing signature across the Princess paper, happy to be the first "princess" to sign it.

With a wide, crooked grin Katy takes back her notebook and pen. She runs screaming and squealing to her mom. I carefully rise up – knees slightly cracking – onto my high heeled feet and watch the mother and daughter walk away. My gaze flickers to the blinking white walking man; it signaling that people shouldn't be on the road soon.

"Shit!" I mutter under my breath, automatically losing my "princess character."

I jog as elegantly as I can in my boots towards the other side of the road, but stop at sound of a blaring horn cutting through the air. Wide eyed, I stare at the speeding vehicle rushing towards me and me alone. Everyone else is too smart and ran away at the sound. My breath catches in my throat and all sounds fade away as I focus on the rushing car.

"PRINCESS TESSA!" Katy screams, fear dripping from her words.

Suddenly, like a flash of lightening in a dark sky, a thought – no, an instinct – comes to me. Protect. Protect those that cannot protect themselves. I can feel all the stares and hear the frightened screams of my name. Although, in spite of all of that, I can only feel and hear Katy, someone who is so little and so young, she cannot protect herself.

I remember stories of how people recall certain moments in their lives or how they see a white light as they're dying, but all that I can recall— know is that if I die (from something as meager as a hit by car) my family and friends will lose someone and suffer heartache.

Katy screams again; mixing with another wail from the car. My arms and legs tense, surging with adrenaline, and all fear leaves me. My thoughts turn into actions – fluidly and instinctually. My feet spread apart and my shoulders go back, a stance of a stereotypical superhero, and my hands knit together in front of me. I reel my hands back and, and at the most vital moment, I slam them down. I don't even the cold metal of the vehicle when it collides with my glued hands.

Everything slows down and fades away. The once speeding car, which was about to hit and kill me, is now flying through the air above me. Flipping nose over tail again and again and again, until the wheels slam into the asphalt behind me. I watch it, of course, with wide eyes and gaping mouth. The black wheels boom and squeak at the moment of impact bringing life back to the moment. All I hear though are people talking frantically into their cell phones, their eyes meeting mine. Full of astonishment and panic.

Katy, sweet little Katy, is hiding behind her mother with eyes full of fear.

The driver is screaming from his car – from what I'm not so sure. And it's his screaming that causes my legs to move. I jog over him, a cold feeling wraps around my heart and stomach. Could I have really harmed him?

My fingers curl over the driver's side window, windows no more. It's a gentle touch, so much different than what happened mere seconds ago. "Are you alright?" I sweep my eyes over him. No signs of blood or broken bones. Just a white powder from the air bags covers him.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he pushes me away.

I stumble away, nearly tripping over my feet.

I look back at the sea of fear and panicked face dressed in dreary colored common-street clothes. Among the raging sea and blaring ambulance sirens, I see one person. He, like the others, is talking into his cell phone. Only he's dressed in a black suit and tie and wearing dark sunglasses. Underneath his sunglasses I see calm expression, he hangs up who he was talking to but continues to stare at me. Even when the paramedics take me away.

**~ Asgard ~**

Loki sits in his dull white glass chamber, staring at the wall past the glass. His light colored eyes still hold their cold and calculating gaze. His mind still goes on and on – thinking of ways to rid himself of these… thoughts. Certainly he has gone mad in these short months since his attempt on Midgard.

The torture.

The silence.

It was bound to happen to him at some point but he never thought so soon. Why would his mind play such tricks on him; feeling the gentle brush upon his cheek is a trick of his own mind? It's so small and dainty and warm on his cold cheek. There's another one, on his other cheek; hands are cradling his face. Smooth thumbs run along his sharp features. Wiping away tears that aren't there, but were once there a long time ago.

Days after the incident, he felt her loving touch. Her hands either hold him or caress him. Making familiar motions; brushing away strands of his dark hair, attempting to wipe away the smears of red, or hold him tight to keep the fear at bay. Now, she holds his face. This… sensation surely has to be that of a woman's caring touch. Hands that have never held a weapon are uncalloused – unmarked. The gentle way they brush against him – no man has dared touch him in a way. The slim fingers which brush his hair back and long, elegant nails that causes shivers to travel down his back. These gentle hands must belong to a young woman.

Loki cannot see her – not even a silhouette. Loki can only feel her touch. Lately he has been finding himself giving into the soft feeling, closing his eyes or leaning into it. Where else may he receive such a touch ever again?

Now, is no different. He closes his eyes and pictures a pretty woman kneeling before him. She stretches up and warm, smooth lips brush against his forehead.

_If this be a trick of my own mind or of someone else, let it be._

Her lips move carefully, softly against his skin. She whispers, "What have the realms done to you, my Little Loki?"

_Little Loki._ That pet name ignites something deep within him. A flicker of a thought—a deep, deep thought buried in the many corridors of his complex mind. There's a soft knock – a scratch – against a locked, bound in chain, steel door at the end of a dark corridor. The thick chains and numerous padlocks fall to the ground one strand after heavy strand. He apprehensively opens the door and allows the dim candlelight to seep in.

The lips move against his forehead again. She whispers, "I will never harm you, Little Loki." The name beckons to him; urging him to open the door further and step through.

The smell of spring apples, cherries, and fresh cut grass wafts up to his nose. This scent is so familiar to him; he steps through. Although, he walks in very—tremendously cautiously. Soft strands of hair tickle at his face. A small hand slips into his and pulls him in. The petite candle cannot penetrate the enormous darkness surrounding him. Yet, he can't bring himself to care.

She sits down and he follows suits.

Loki leans his head back against the cool empty hair behind him, and lets the feelings overtake him. Drowning himself in the scent of apples, cherries, and cut grass.

His head slowly falls back into a flushed chest – it's under this ample chest that he feels and hears the steady beat of her heart. So slow and so steady he nearly falls asleep. He's oh-so-tempted to bury his face into her breasts; listen to her calm heartbeat. He enjoys the rush of blood under his fingertips and seeing the panic and fear in others' eyes. But with his young maiden, he knows he won't enjoy any of that.

He feels himself falling into her lap. Warmth – sunlight – bathes across his face. His hands are holding a book and his eyes roam as if they're reading across the pages. The woman's thin fingers brush through his hair. He closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth spreading through him. A single finger draws up to his forehead and draws random things on his skin.

She writes _Little Loki_ , in an elegant script.

No one but her dared to call him that; he knows. And no one dared harm her. In this small, dark room that has led them to a grassy hill with her fingers in his hair and his head in her lap, no one dared harm her. He would kill anyone who tried to take her away from him.

_I am… content…._ He smiles as she continues to brush her fingers through his hair.

"You heard her, too?" Thor's deep voice shatters Loki's tranquility.

Loki is viciously ripped away from the sun filled valley and locked off room. The light is snuffed and stale air returns to it. The thick steel door slams shut and the chains wrap around the door and hall, padlock after large padlock click to each intersecting chain. His light green eyes snap open and he's met with the white ceiling and glass walls.

Thor stares at his younger brother with concern etched out in his blue eyes. Surely, it was that woman that has plagued him for the last few months.

"You speak as if I know what you are talking about." Loki says, all warmth gone.

"The young maiden whose voice is like tiny bells. It's pleading, urging me—us to follow. You heard her, yes?" he pleads, desperate to know if he's heard her too.

"No," Loki lies yet this is not a lie. "I did not hear her."

"Oh," Thor obviously deflates. "My apologies. I thought…"

"Now, that I have never heard of before."

The God of Thunder gains a glare in his eyes; he heard the woman again. With his brother being a master of magic, he thought Loki could understand the issue better or that he may have actually seen her face. All Thor has gained is his brother's mockery.

Maybe he should have gone to his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did I get Loki right or even a sense of him? I'd really like to know. ^^;;


	5. Expressive Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Odin is haunted by big blue expressive eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, guys! I've just noticed there are NINE people following this story! WOW! Thanks so much! ^_^ I had no idea, seriously, not even an e-mail. How do I change that.  
> Here is a special thanks to: purplerhino and a guest for kudo-ing this story and Tara who was the first person to comment. ^-^
> 
> I don't think I've mentioned this before, but this story is also on fanfiction.net and the voting is going on there as well. With that being said....  
>  **The score is now:**  
>  **Steve- 1  
> **  
>  Loki- 0
> 
> Which I find a bit shocking honestly. ^^; I guess like Amy (Guest) said (from fanfic), you guys/gals are just waiting to see how Loki and Steve interact with Tessa. While, I woulda just voted for my favorite. ;)
> 
> Anyway, read, enjoy, and review!

"With the exception of a fading scar on your right forearm, from a previous accident, there are no signs of internal or external damage." says Dr. Goodwin flipping through her notes and scribbling things down. "Your blood and urine levels, heart rate, blood pressure, mucus membranes, and temperature are all normal. However, we would still like to run a few more tests." She looks at me over her thick rimmed glasses.

My upper lip peels back with a snarl, eyes blazing. "What other tests could you possibly run! You just said my vital signs are normal! Can't I go home? I feel fine!" Everyone else in the room is gone. I can't see any of the star-struck nurses or other doctors with this super note-taking bitch in front of me.

"Miss Maberry," she sighs, irritated at my attitude, "you've been in a car accident—"

"See, that's where you're wrong! I wasn't! That guy that was driving was!"

"There are witnesses—"

"That said I flipped the fucking car! I know, I know. But if my blood and urine tests came back negative for drugs, then I'm clean! You can even ask my roommate – she's at Stark Industries right now." I go for my purse and fish out my iPhone. "You can call her," I offer her the small device once I choose to view my many messages later, "go ahead." I urge her to take it.

She doesn't. She simply sighs and pushes up her glasses.

"It is against our protocol to use our patient's electronic devices. Although, if you be okay giving us her number, we will use our land line—"

The door slams opens just then. Causing everyone to jump and stare at the man in the black suit and tie. His close buzz cut and dark sunglasses remind me of the man from the street.

"You will not be talking to my client or her friends or family until I say you can."

"And just who are you?" asks a young male nurse, chest puffed.

"I am Miss Maberry's lawyer." He states, taking off his sunglasses and clipping them onto his suit. "And it's in your best interest if you leave now." His voice is cool and crisp—calm and collected. It's almost as if he knows he can fight his way through all of these doctors and security guards if need be. I think there might be even a gun under his suit's jacket, or maybe that's just my imagination running off again.

Wait. When did I even call for a lawyer?

I stare up at the man from my spot on the hospital bed. One elegant blonde eyebrow raised high in confusion.

"Since all of her vital signs are normal, as you've said and as I can see, there are things I need to discuss with my client." His dark eyes glide over everyone in the white room. "Are we clear?"

Dr. Goodwin nods and leaves, albeit reluctantly, her fellow doctors and nurses leave behind her. The mysterious lawyer softly shuts door behind them and locks it. With my purse in my lap and hand deep in large bag, I curl my fingers around my taser. My eyes keep glancing at my cell phone beside me. Should I call the police now without hearing him? This guy gives me some serious heebie-jeebies.

"You're cell phone won't work." He suddenly says.

"What?" my grip tightens.

"We're running a magnetic field over this hospital," he says, walking over to the window. He makes a gesture with his hand before walking back in front of me at the foot of the bed.

My grip tightens and my heart begins to race.

 _Just remember all the lessons you took._ I tell myself, recalling all the training and self-defense classes I took. _Stay calm and if he plans on doing anything attack. Let the role of an assassin come in handy._

"We made sure that the medical technology remains untouched. Only cellular devices and land lines are affected." He places his suitcase on the bed, but makes no move to open it.

"How thoughtful of you, Mr. …. I'm sorry," I say sarcastically, "I didn't get your name." I smirk, absolute hate shaking me to the core.

"That's because I didn't give it to you."

"Will you?"

"No. Now, if you'll please come with me—" his hand goes to grab me.

I slap his hand away and scream, "Don't fucking touch me!" I scramble off the bed my hand tearing away from my purse. The taser is clutched in my hand. "And just stay away from me!"

Everything I was taught about fighting and defending myself slithers out under the door and through the cracks in windows. I just… need to fight. Blindly and carelessly fight this man before me. This small gun-like object just needs to be touching him and electric shocks will course through his system. Then, I'll run. I'll run all the way home and lock all the doors and windows. Call the police, too, and warn Madison.

"Tessa," he doesn't even sound afraid! "I'm not going hurt you. No one is. But if you do not come with me quietly and calmly actions will be taken."

My arms do not lower and my eyes do not waver away from him. "What sort of 'actions?'"

He calmly walks back to the window, looks out, and looks back at me. "We have Intel that your parents are harboring an alien – an immigrant that crossed our nation's boarders without legal purposes. Your family – their employees – will go to jail for a long time and lose everything." His dark eyes stare into mine, cool and calculating.  
Unreadable.

"You, Miss Tessa Maberry, will be trailed as a coconspirator. Your career, your clothes' lines, your fans, your fundraisers and charities, those orphanages, foster homes, and animal shelters you opened and rebuilt – everything you know and love will be gone. That is, if you refuse to come with me."

Panic fills my core so fast that it's nearly nauseating.

My world is spinning. The belt around my waist suddenly feels too tight and my bare arms long to be wrapped in the wool red fabric of my trench coat.

My heart is racing; chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. I'm nearly gasping for air to fill my lungs. My raised arms begin to prickle and shake in tremors. The heavy weight in my arms causes them to lower and for my only weapon to point at the tiled floor. With heavy, cold fingers my gun falls to the floor with a loud _clunk_. The sound echoes in my ears.

My eyes are wide and full of fear, astonishment, and repressed rage. Somehow tears slowly fill them. All words-pleas die before they pass my lips. This man and his… organization intend not only to destroy my life, but my family's and friends' as well. Those who know me know that I'm fiercely protective of my loved ones. News and magazine articles covered stories of how I fought with people about such things. There's something about this man though that I just can't place. No matter how many times I run fighting scenarios through my head, I feel that he'd win every time.

A sudden ring slices through the air making me jump in shock.

The man fishes out a flat, black cell phone from his coat's pocket without taking his gaze off of me. "Hello. … Yes. Alright." He offers me the device, a hint of a smile is on his lips. "It's for you."

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I take the iPhone with shaky fingers. "H-Hello?"

"You are on the fifth floor, in E5." a confident man states on the other line; my heart stops and flutters at his knowledge. "We have our agents scattered throughout this hospital building – Winning Health Hospital, correct? And if you even think you can beat Agent Robertson, which you know you won't, you will not be able to get past every single one of them. We can make it look like an accident, Tessa Rosalin Maberry. We _will_ make it look like an accident if we have to. That is if you run and refuse to come with us willingly."

I lick my suddenly dry lips and close my eyes as the panic is replaced with a realizing dread. I have no choice. If I want to protect my good name and my loved ones, I have to go with this man. It takes a great effort for me to open my eyes and stare at the man in black – Agent Robertson. I wonder how many fake nurses and doctors are scattered throughout this building.  
"Alright."

Was that my voice? I never sounded so genuinely weak, defeated before. I can feel my fate being closed and taken from me as Robertson takes his phone back.

He slides his sunglasses back on and gathers his suitcase. "Miss Maberry," he offers me his arm.

Glancing at his arm, I shrug on my coat and gather my purse. I grasp his elbow with my free hand and clutch my purse to my chest. He leads us out with quick, confident strides. In my slim high-heels and lead-like feeling legs it's hard to keep up. I almost ask him to slow down.

Almost being the operative word.

I nearly cried in front of this man; I won't ask him for something in less than an hour.

We – thankfully – take the elevator. Several people with cool, calculating expressions enter and guard the sliding white doors. Every other nurse or doctor is wearing bright, happy colors. These men and women are all wearing navy blue. I begin to chew on my lower lip as the harsh feeling in the atmosphere weighs down over me.

The single rectangular light fixture flickers above us.

"Miss Maberry," voices a woman with an English accent from the front.

"Yes," I glance up at her instead of staring at the floor.

"There's a swarm of paparazzi outside the front and back entrance. I suggest you wear your glasses."

"Oh," I look down at my bag, "thank you." Needles bristle into my fingers as the brush against the items in my small bag. My fingers meet the familiar rounded rectangular edge of my glasses; I take the black sunglasses out and slide them on my face.

There's a soft _ding_ and we all get off the same floor. The nurses disperse; however, I notice that they keep a sharp eye on me. They're agents.

Robertson practically drags me out of the hospital. I trip and stumble in my boots on the smooth, wet floor. He continues to lift and pull me toward the door.

"Sir," Dr. Goodwin runs to us, eyes frantic. "You can't take Miss Maberry—"

"She has already been checked out and we have a car waiting. There is no need for her to stay here, Doctor." He doesn't look back and neither do I.

I keep my gaze down, everything tinted black. The bright flashing lights of cameras are dulled by my large glasses. People are screaming my name, asking if I'm alright, how I flipped a car nose over tail, and if I know the driver of said car is alright. Of course, I don't answer any of them. My head is down and my hair is hanging over my shoulders, shielding my already partially hidden face.

I can hear Fred's voice in my head. He's telling me to keep my head down and not to answer any of their questions. He's told me again and again if this ever happened to me to do just that. This is the first time anything like this has happened.

Robertson orders me to get in the car. I slide in; noting that the windows are completely black—tinted. I slide my celebrity sunglasses up to rest on my head, looking around the black, leather interior. It's like I'm inside a short limo; everything's dark and private. There's a window that separates the passengers and the driver. Agent Robertson locks the door once he's inside. He doesn't say anything.

I'm glad though. I don't need to hear his voice saying that I'm in trouble. I look out the window and watch all the blurs that go by, ignoring the big blue pleading eyes staring back at me.

_Please let everything be alright._

**~ Asgard ~**

There's a massive paper parchment within a large golden frame that took up a quarter of the length of the wall; however, it hung from the ceiling and grazed the floor. Beneath the colorful paints and detailed lines and curves are parallel thin lines stitching that create the paper. With so many stitches and layers, it'll be difficult to tear. Despite the multiple stitches and many layers the edges remain un-frayed under the heavy, twisting frame.

The setting of the grand artwork is within some grand place in the golden palace. There's an open window showing a clear blue sky, deep red drapes hang on either side of the painting. A delicate blue vase, full of various types of flowers, stands on an end table of oak wood near the window and before the drapes. There's a tall oak chair with a high back at the forefront.

The AllFather stares up at the three young people in the painting: the Golden Son, the Peacekeeper, and the Silvertongue.

Thor, the Golden Son, stands proudly to the right of the chair. He's hunched over slightly, nearly leaning over to the tall chair. One massive arm is draped over the back of the chair, while the other is crossed over a large, soft chest. His sky blue eyes are shining with utter joy and amusement. His blonde beard is short and clean, lips spread wide to reveal a dazzling white smile that cause maidens to swoon. To not be a part of the drapery, he doesn't wear his red cape. He does wear his blue and silver armor – winged helm included. The Asgardian steel glimmers in the natural light.

Loki, the Silvertongue, (dare Odin think the Traitor?) stands calmly and just as proudly on the left of the chair. One of his hands is behind his straight spine, while the other is clasping a small and far daintier one. The light green eyes stare at anyone who walks by with a cool gaze, his thin lips are in a thin line, and his expression is the opposite of his then-brother. Not sad or empty, just merely… knowing. His green, black, and gold dresses stand out in the gold and red setting behind them. His cape is forever still and horned helmet a greater difference to Thor's helm. Nevertheless, the gold, much like the silver, shines dully in the lighting.

The Peacekeeper, the only daughter of Odin, the bell-like laughter dancing down the corridors, the apple of his eye, the Lost Princess of Asgard, sits perfectly still in the royal wooden chair. She, like her brothers, is an image of royalty: a straight spine, shoulders squared, and, beneath the light and dark blue of her long skirt, legs tucked perfectly for a princess. Her bright blue eyes are luminescent with an untold happiness as she holds her brothers' hands. The corners of her rose red lips are curled up, revealing sparkling white teeth. A golden circlet wraps itself around her thick golden tresses. Unlike the eldest's, the wings are subtlety noticeable. Her dress, in its entirety, can only be described as one thing: wind. It flows to the floor and it moves with the still wind in the room. Three-quarter length sleeves are square and fall from her slim shoulders. On either side of the deep V-neckline are golden circles. The 'V' is cut off by a golden underbust. (And, in an act of spite to the King, she did not wear something to hide her ample bosom. They yelled and screamed at each other until both of their voices left them and they were both red in the face; they resorted into glaring at one another. Odin remembers the enormous amounts of hate and loathing in her eyes.)

How many times has the Mighty King of Asgard fallen to those big blue eyes full of tears? How many times has Odin let Thor and Loki go for their mistakes because of her expressive eyes? How many times has he given her something by just merely looking into her eyes? How many times has he heard her cries at night after the death of her beloved stable boy?

Too many. He has fallen too many times to the eyes that revealed every raw emotion she felt, every tear that has fallen from her eye.

Odin once had a daughter and was securely wrapped around her weak pinky finger. The day she came to him in confidence with a sort of prideful air around her and asked him to be a warrior was the first day he said no. He saw something break within her that day. Her eyes lost that noticeable sparkle and she distant herself from him; finding shelter with Frigga and her two brothers. Each time the great King looked into her eyes he saw a void of nothingness.

"Had I known that that would happen to you, my daughter," his voice is weak, defeated as he gazes up at her joyful eyes, "I would have let Thor and Loki teach you with a sword and magic; you would not have been taken from us. Me."

"Odin," Frigga's voice echoes all around him. Her sandals barely make a sound as she walks up to him. Her soft hands glide up his back and rest on his strong shoulders. "What are you doing here, my King?" she whispers in his ear.

"Thinking of our daughter." His eye doesn't leave her face. Her eyes. Those eyes that was once full of wonder and love.

"She will return to us, my King. You know that and I know that – we feel it." Frigga looks over his shoulder, gazing up at the Peacekeeper's eyes.

They can only hope that she'll return to them soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So... what did you think? You all got to see just how famous she really is.  
> I really don't want Tessa to be a Mary-Sue, but she is very famous and well-known. Hence why she has done so much for such a young person, as Agent Robertson said. First and foremost, she is an actress and is not a trained fighter, which is how she "forgot" to fight. She is very much protective of her loved ones, much like most people. And in a state of panic people tend to forget what they were taught and do as they're told to avoid any harm.
> 
> Did I get the essence of S.H.I.E.L.D right? :/ I guess we'll see more of that in the next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ****VOTE COUNT:**  
> **  
>  Steve- 1  
> Loki- 0
> 
>  
> 
> **Next chapter's title:  
> ** Faltering Form


	6. Faltering Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A form falters before Heimdall's feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** *sing-song type of voice* My classes are kicking my ass~! Note from the young and stupid, NEVER take two major science classes the same semester. You'll be walking up a steep hill. *sigh*
> 
> At this moment in time, I'd like to thank those who have been reading this story and commenting on it and giving me kudos on my work. There are several guests who kudo-ed it, one of which right before I updated it, nice timing ;), and a new commenter: MadameMoriarty. And I know have TEN subscriptions, with this also being posted on fanfiction, that's like... TWENTY-TWO SUBSCRIPTIONS! xDDD  
> Someone also voted on fanfic. For all: With each vote I get the future of this story becomes more and more clear. (Along with any future sequels I post.)  
> For all: With each vote I get the future of this story becomes more and more clear. (Along with any future sequels I post.)  
>  ****The score is now:**  
>  Steve- 2  
> Loki- 0**
> 
> Where IS Loki's army? Hm... If it all plans out, Loki and Tessa should be meeting within... three or so chapters.
> 
> May you all enjoy this chapter! But please, don't for get to review and vote if you haven't already.

The driver and Robertson don't say anything for the entire ride. In those few hours I've spent the ride trying to calm my frantic heart and my imagination. It runs wild with crazy and unbelievable outcomes that couldn't possibly happen to someone like me. They'll strap me to a table and perform tests on me. My mouth will be stuffed with a thick fabric and a thick strap of leather tide around my face, so that they won't have to hear my screams. They'll mess with my head, asking me questions and twist my words. Make it seem like I don't know what I truly know. They'll inject me with substances I don't know the true origins of and have no idea the affects it'll have on me.

I stop drumming my fingers on my knee to scratch my arm. I can feel something's wrong with it. Glancing down I don't see anything wrong with it, but the thought of tiny red bumps from the injection site crawls into my mind.

_Mom and Dad always told me not to take rides with strangers. However, I guess with all our lives at risk, I didn't have a choice._

My uneven breathing seems to be amplified in the small car. I press my forehead against the tinted window, relishing in the cool contact. I look up, only getting glimpses of my eyes in the poor reflection, and see the fast blurred images of the passing scenery.

_I wonder what would happen if I just jumped out right now…._

"Are we there yet?" I ask, not looking at Robertson.

"No."

"How much longer?"

"Soon."

Keeping my head against the glass, I look at him with a mix of irritation and accusation gleaming in my eyes. "You're not one for much conversation, are you, Agent Robertson?"

"No."

"Pppthhbbbth," I blow a raspberry, before turning my attention back to the passing scenery. _Piss off._

…

In the next two or so hours, we're far beyond the City and its suburbs. And my paranoia grows more and more. This is where they'll dispose of my body.

The simple black coverings cover the windows with a sudden snap. "Ow…" I rub my temple, flinching at the tenderness and gently tug my light strands out from their trap. I chew on my lip at the thought of split ends.

"What was that for!" I growl at him, petting the abused ends of my hair. My hate grows and grows for this man and his… organization.

"We're close to our stop and we can't have you knowing where it lies."

"You could've warned me to get my head away from the window."

He doesn't respond.

_Jerk._

Another handful of time goes by and, judging by my cell, it's a quarter to five. Madi should be home soon if she hadn't already after hearing the little stir I caused.

Sighing, I stuff my cell back into my bag. "How much longer?"

"We'll be arriving soon."

_You said that hours ago._

I settle back into the leather seat, crossing my arms and leaning my head backwards and try to relax. Every so often my fingers tap against my bicep to keep my mind off any possible outcomes. I can feel myself trembling beneath my thick coat; I can't lose myself in my own mind.

The dark vehicle slows to a stop after many bumpy turns. I wonder if we went in circles to have it so they know I won't be able to find where ever it is we're going. Opening my eyes, I stare blankly at the black covering. With a deep sigh, an exhale through my nose I glance at Robertson. He's staring straight ahead of himself with a stern expression.

He opens the door and steps out; I catch a glimpse of a barren ground. There's no grass or trees. I groan as I wiggle my door handle viciously.

"HEY!" I shout once I hear the driver leave. I bang on the protected glass. "Let me out!" An interesting mix of fear and rage consumes me as my nails bite into the palms of my hands. I swing at empty air once the door sudden opens. I all but growl at Robertson, whose staring down at me with a small, smug smile on his lips.

"Right this way, Miss Maberry." He says, amusement tingeing his voice.

I angrily gather my handbag off the seat; suddenly realizing that my taser isn't inside it anymore. I glance up at the motionless agent dressed in black picturing the outline of the taser in his pocket. _Sneaky bastard, he took it when we were back at the hospital._

"Where are we exactly?" I ask, getting out of the car and begin to swipe away imaginary dust on my black jeans.

"We are where we are precisely at."

"That doesn't sound like some bad riddle." I look around the empty field of rolling grassy hills that falls into a roaring ocean. "How far away are we from the city?" I look at either Robertson or the driver for an answer, more so hoping one from the silent driver.

It's Robertson with an unspecific answer, "Far enough."

I look up at the driver, a man dressed like Robertson and donning a pair of black tinted sunglasses, asking, "How about you?

"We're far enough."

At least I got an extra word out of him.

I stand between the two tall, imposing men glancing at the tranquil area. I'm almost tempted to slide my sunglasses back over my face.

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" I glance up between them.

Mr. Silent doesn't reply. Agent Robertson, however, answers in his annoying short way again, "Our ride."

"What ri—" at that precise moment a rapid, multi chopping sound cuts through the air. Looking up my eyes widens, my jaw falls open, and my chest rises and falls with panicked breaths. A large metal grey helicarrier flies towards us; the true scale of it grows and grows as it nears. I've only ever seen these things in movies and picture books, so it's astonishing to see one coming towards me.

I continuously push my whirling blonde strands away from my face and my coat angrily beats against my frame as it draws near.

"What—" My breath catches in my throat and a cold feeling wraps itself around my chest and gut. "I… I don't believe it. What is that thing?" I shout over the chopping blades, instinctively looking at Robertson.

As the dirt and loose rocks are further kicked up, the agent slides his glasses on his face with a cocky smirk on his lips. "That, Miss Maberry, would be our ride."

I suddenly feel the intense urge to run. THIS is where they decide to kill me and feed me to the fish. My chest begins to rise and fall in panicked breaths and my arms tremble with ramped nerves. "I… I… I…," I stutter uncontrollably, looking over my shoulders.

_Where am I?_

Despite my lack of knowledge, I scream, "I need to go!" I turn and run across the uneven terrain, nearly tripping in my boots.

They catch me, however and raise me up. I kick at the empty air and screech, ordering them to let me go and how I didn't do anything wrong. Despite their tight grip I try continuously to wretch myself free; ignoring the thought of bruises on my biceps. Small, hard objects hit the back of my head – rocks – as the helicarrier lowers its ramp to the ground. My voice cracks as it reaches new levels of intensity.

"NAAAAHHHHH! Let me go!" My struggles don't lessen as they take me up the steel ramp. My purse bumps and rocks violently at my side. "You stupid fucks will hear from my lawyers!" I continue to throw every threat that comes to my mind and yet they don't retaliate; not even a twitch of the lips.

We ascend up numerous set of steel steps. Beyond my ear-shattering screams, I can hear a deep _thrump_ from the large four air chopping blades. "Somebody help me!" I scream, my voice echoing off the walls. Nobody comes to my aid.

There's a small _beep_ and _whoosh_ , before I'm thrown down to the hard ground. Whirling around (and pushing away my wild-windblown hair) I glare at the driver who holds my bag; and everything that resides within it.

"Give me that!" I shout, pointing to him, and walk up to him.

There's another _whoosh_ of air and I'm met with a glass door in front of me.

"Our director will be with you shortly." Robertson states before walking away with the mysterious unnamed driver by his side.

"You can't leave me here!" I shout, slapping at the glass. "I know my rights! I'm being held against my will! THIS IS KIDNAPPING!" I try to reason with them – all of them – to strike fear into them. No one answers me; the chopping air and the diligent typing of keys are my only responses.

I huff and puff angrily, stalking around the circular glass cage. I spot cameras scattered around the perimeter of the room. Every time I pass one I either stick my tongue out at it or raise my middle finger, sometimes both. White floors and white (barely any) furniture blend into the glass circular walls and the outside bleh.

I stop short at one camera, glaring menacingly at it. "Well?" I growl, quirking my brow. "I've been waiting for God knows how long and your precious director has yet to show. If he doesn't show soon I would like to be returned home…NOW."

"Fast enough for you, Miss Maberry?"

I gasp, whirling around to the front entrance. I see a tall, dark skinned man dressed in black with an eye patch holding a folder. I blink and stare at the scarred portion of his face.

"Very," I say and walk forward. Every step I take the curiosity about his eye patch crumbles and rage blooms again. A cold glare bristles to my eyes. "Now, can you please," – I spat the word out – "tell me what is going on and why I'm in this thing?" I gesture to the walls around me.

"Since you asked so nicely, we're led to believe that you – despite your fame and glory and noticeable past – are not what you seem to be." He opens the folder and reads from it. "At the age of twenty, you tried for the role lead role of Sweet Dreams, Princess and got it. From there your career as an actress skyrocketed, closely followed by your singing and modeling career. All of which you claim is from the drive your dead boyfriend's – Logan Richardson – promise." My hard stare falters at this; no one mentions him.

He continues, "As of three months ago you turned twenty-five and spent it in New Jersey on your family farm, like you always do on your birthdays. There you fell from a loft, where any NORMAL person would sustain a broken leg or arm or any other form of injury you merely gotten a twisted ankle. Tell me, Miss Maberry, how is that?"

I know how he knows about Logan; from the beginning I've always mentioned him. How could he know of the barn mishap?

"I… I have a really badass immune system." I smile with a small laugh.

"Does your 'badass immune system' count for your actions today? Or those times when your entire class was sick with a rampant infection in the third grade and you weren't? The most noticeable act of your 'badass immune system' is when you and your roommate, Madison Lough, were in a car crash. Lough suffered numerous injuries that left her crippled for several months to almost a year. You, however, only had a gash above your left eye and over your right shoulder." His eye seems to trace over the nonexistent scars; although my shoulder is hidden under my coat and shirt. "By the way, how is your arm?"

I instinctively hide my right forearm. Robertson must've told him what the doctors said.

"It's healing." I tell him.

"At an exceptional rate from what I heard. Will you tell us how? And the truth."

"The truth?" I laugh. "You accept me to tell you the truth after all of this? I was threatened at a hospital about my loved ones safety, and my career and life. I was brought here more or less against my will with Mr. Tall-and-Scary and Mr. Little-Say-Nothing. Oh, and you'll love this, I'm brought to the middle of nowhere where you might very well kill me and throw away my body! You want me to tell you truth about me flipping over that car? How about you telling me your name, giving me some goddamn food 'cause I'm fucking starving, and letting me go!" my nose is nearly pressed against the glass as I stare up at him. "How about that, Mr. One Eye?"

"First," he's losing his patience by the sounds of it, "you tell me how you flipped a fucking car over your head."

I whirl around from screaming and pulling at my hair. "I don't know! I don't FUCKING know!" I look over my shoulder to glare at him. "If I knew don't you think I woulda told you from the beginning to avoid all of this?" I turn to fully face him. My hands shake and my body trembles under my coat as I walk up to him with tears in my eyes. "I just don't know. Please, let me go home."

There's a stifling feeling in the air as he looks down at me with his eye. His expression of indifference is alarming and it's slowly chipping away at me.

"You're a very good actress, Miss Maberry." He suddenly says coolly.

I blink; my tears instantly go away with his accusation. "What?"

As he walks down the steps, away from me, I follow him until I can't. "Let me know when Your Majesty is ready to talk or needs a magazine or something."

"I'm not acting! Please, let me go!"

All the anger and rage I felt is gone, and anxiety and misery takes their place. I truly do just want to go home. They'll have to return me soon; Madi should be home soon.

My head hangs low as I walk over to the white bench. I've never felt so defeated. I close my eyes to will it all away, but I can still hear the blades outside chopping at the air and the rapid typing of keys. If I listen more closely I can hear the cameras' humming around me – watching me and studying me. I turn to one and blankly stare at it for a handful of heartbeats, before looking away again.

I knit my fingers over my stomach; hoping that a small pressure will keep the nauseating feeling of hunger away. My uncomfortable coughs sound like gags to me. With my emotions running high as they are, it took what little energy I had from my small breakfast.

_They probably think I'm acting again. Dicks._

A mouth-watering aroma suddenly wafts up to my nose; I sniff the air not bothering to open my eyes. It has to be a trick.

"Pardon me, ma'am."

I jolt from my trance-like state at the voice. Looking up at the entrance of my (what I guess to be a) cage, I see a deliciously tall and muscular man with styled blonde hair, a plaid shirt is under a brown leather jacket, tan slacks run down his long legs, and two-toned brown vintage shoes. He seems like a good cop with his sparkling blue eyes.

I slowly get up and walk up to him. "Yes…?"

"I couldn't help but notice that you were hungry?" He moves his arms from behind his back, revealing a cardboard box of various Chinese food. My mouth instantly begins to water.

_Food._

"Yes," I nod vigorously, grinning widely, "Yes, I am!" I laugh. I'm positively giddy with the idea of finally eating something.

_He's definitely the good cop._

The door _whooshes_ open again. He goes to step through the threshold; I hold my hands up to stop him. My heart flutters and my stomach turns cold. He tilts his head with confusion written over his face.

"Are you allowed to come in? Apparently I'm some kinda She-Hulk with superhuman strength."

He chuckles, nodding, walking through the open threshold. "Yes, everything will be okay. Here," he urges me to take the box, "have some. I got them for you."

I look into the box, trying to control my drool with all the colorful foods and smells. "For me?" I smile up at him. He can't be the bad cop; he's not dressed like them, he's cute, and he brought me food. I can smile at him, can't I?

A rosy blush rises to his cheeks. Still holding the box with one hand, he starches his blush with the other. "Y-Yeah, I heard how hungry you were so I ordered some food."

"Thank you," I go to take a box of rice and duck sauce. I falter when I can't say his name. "Um… thank you…," holding to my choice, I look up at him.

_Finally a good, nice man taller than me._

"Rogers. Steve Rogers."

"Thank you, Steve Rogers." I grin up at him, full of gratitude for someone so kind. I lightly laugh, aware that there isn't a table. I gesture towards the bench I previously sat on. "Would you like a seat?" If he entered to just give me food, he must want to stay. It's not like I'm craving someone with a good heart right now to talk to.

Still slightly flustered, he agrees with an adorable nod and toothy smile. I almost vibrate with giddiness at his kind persona. My cheeks nearly hurt with all my smiling.

We spilt the Chinese box down the middle. Although I've caught Steve sliding some of his half towards mine; I inwardly laugh at his thoughtfulness. So kind.

_So… chivalrous._

A thought occurs to me; my eyes widen and I pause mid-bite.

"I'm sorry, Steve!"

"For what?"

"I never introduced myself," I beam, ready to say my (famous) name, "I'm–"

"Tessa Rosalin Maberry." Steve grins to himself, down at the box of food. I see his eyes widen and his body tense. "Um… that is to say, that is your name. And I know that 'cause… 'cause… 'cause I'm a-a-a," – he clears his throat, refusing to look me in the eye – "I'm a fan."

**~ Asgard ~**

Heimdall stands at the edge of the Bifröst his golden eyes ever watchful. He watches and sees all. Among all the Nine Realms, he searches for her. He searches for the damsel with the gentle voice that screamed to be trained on the ways of war, the soft touch that caressed a sleeping monster in love many times, and the expressive blue eyes that failed to bring her father to see her way.

He searched for her for twenty-five years, three months, two weeks, and four days.

He hunts for her. For her absence is the reason why Thor and Loki are the way they are, why the AllFather grows wearier upon his throne and gazes upon the portraits of her with longing, and why Frigga cries in the Forbidden Room and creates armor for a young woman who may never return. It would not even take a daft person to realize the resemblance between Thor's and hers armor; only hers is far more feminine. (2)

Heimdall has seen the monsters that took her away and her fight valiantly in their clutches. He can still hear her screams and protests as they twisted and turned into a realm. King Odin and Queen Frigga would be proud of their daughter, he knows.

A purple, with a galaxy wrapped around it, vial pressed itself against her lips. It was then where she refused to scream and tears to leak from her eyes. One monster stabbed her left side; she screamed in pure agony and the contents of the vial were poured into her gaping mouth. She went to gag and spit it out, but the monster that stabbed her clamped its hand over her mouth and nose. Before she lost consciousness she swallowed it; Heimdall could see the defeat in her eyes.

It was there where his vision went fuzzy before she simply disappeared from his sight.

_"HEIMDALL!"_ a voice calls out to him.

The Gatekeeper does not turn around to face the maiden. He hears her running feet, the rustle of her skirt, and panicked pants. It is another trick of his mind. They are all plagued with the thoughts of her.

_"Heimdall!" the Princess grabs him and forces him to look at her. Her large blue eyes are full of tears; the make-up that painted her soft face is ruined by their tracts. "Heimdall, you must tell the AllFather that my love is not a murderer! What he's done he did to save me! You know this; you saw this! Please, Heimdall."_

_"A life for a life, Princess. He killed a noble man and thus he too must meet his end."_

_"To SAVE me! Ask Thor; he knows. He's always known! Please… you must. I… I can't lose him." The Princess of Asgard crumbles to her knees, knuckles white with a tight grip enclosed around his dark hands. A princess should never kneel and beg from someone such as him._

_"Please," she whimpers her once strong stance falters into nothing but a whimpering and begging damsel. She looks up at him, eyes red and swollen with the never-ending tears. "Please, Heimdall. I love him for all that I am – you know of our meetings and how much we mean to each other."_

_She was going to run away with him. She was going to live how she wanted without her crown and royalty. She was going to live in a realm that didn't know her, in a small cottage on a hill, and have his children._

_She knew she would never see her mother and father again. Nor would she see her beloved brothers: Thor and Loki. She didn't care, so long as she spent the rest of her days with her lovely stable boy._

Heimdall will never forget that; her faltering form. Her falling to her knees, her hands tightly holding onto his, and her pleading eyes. She cried many days and nights after the stable boy's execution. She fell into silence; refusing to talk to anyone, which included her brothers.

Golden, unreadable eyes close as the memory becomes too much. That's when he sees something – a glimpse of kicking black heels and arms covered in a bright red coat.

A silver key under red and black lays in Midgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** *cheshire cat-like grin* So~ how was it? Tessa got kidnapped, interrogated by Nick Fury (whom she doesn't know yet), nearly starved, and discovered a new (handsome) fan. I for one can see Steve being all cute and modest and blushing in front of her - someone he admires. Thus far, it being celebrity admiration. I am doing my absolute best to remain nutural. The Tessa/Loki feels will hopefully be there in the next chapter and upcoming ones.
> 
> **Key:**  
>  2) I'm fairly certain that I didn't mention this before, but I've seen a picture on Tumblr of Amber Heard (who's the face claim for Tessa and the Princess) dressed as "Thora," which spurred this whole story onward (please note that "Thora" will NOT – under any circumstances – be the Princess's name). Anyway, she's wearing armor that's striking similar to Thor's but is FAR MORE feminine – complete with thigh high boots and short skirt. So that's the armor Frigga sews together.  
> And, if you look closely at the above picture, you can see Thor and Tessa standing side-by-side dressed in their armor.
> 
> ****VOTE COUNT:****  
>  Steve- 2  
> Lokie- 0
> 
> **Next chapter's title:**   
> ** The Devil has Curved Horns **


	7. The Devil has Curved Horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa dreams of a man with curved horns.
> 
> "Thora": http://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa266/SugerG/thora_zpsbcfd0db9.png
> 
> "Thora" and Thor: http://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa266/SugerG/thorandthora_zps3833eb10.png
> 
> (I hope the links work; I'm too much of a n00b to know how to do the link thing where people can merely click on something.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: After many a time, I FINALLY figured out what to call this chapter. Sadly, my recently discovered "theme" is broken. I'll live though. I ALMOST called it "Long Legs," because I wanted Tony to show up in the chapter.  
> He isn't. However, he is mentioned…in the most interesting way. ;) I now have the title you see before you. I like the title and the chapter; it's pretty funny. (And it has an adorable Steve and Tessa moment – right where I left off with you guys.)**
> 
> **Now that I've poked the hornets' nest that is Loki's army the votes are now at:  
>  ***VOTE COUNT:***  
> Loki- 4  
> Steve- 3**
> 
> **Remember you can only vote ONCE! There are no exceptions. I've planned ahead and there are two outcomes - I will not say them either. So please, continue to give me your votes. After a certain number of chapters, I'll let you guys know when the voting will stop and who Tessa will be paired with. After which, I hope you all will continue to read and enjoy the adventures she'll face.**
> 
> **Now it's time for thanks! :) For those who left kudos - guests, purplerhino, and Casums526 - thank you. And a bigger thanks to those who voted last time: purplerhino and Uni.**

"I'm a fan."

Such three simple words, and yet I feel like everything's going to be okay. I know that there are crazy, psycho fans out in the world (who've I met), but Steve can't be one of them. He looks too genuine.

I lean forward in attempt to look into his eyes, smiling. "Really? How did that come about?" I all but forget about the food between us as I try to look at him.

"Um, I don't know when exactly, but it's called _Swing_. It…it, um, I found it comforting." He's looking everywhere around me, never looking at me.

"How so?"

"It was mostly the time it was set in." he shrugs, taking a rather large bite of an eggroll.

I raise a brow at him. He found a movie to be set in the 1940s comforting? Well, I guess it beats medieval times, peasant life in the Revolutionary war, horror films, and other "grown up" movies I've been a part of.

"And then there's the love between Ron and Jessica," I perk up at his words, knowing that _Swing_ is a love movie but there's also World War II as a backdrop. "Despite the war and everything Ron faced on a daily and nightly basis, he still kept thinking about her." Steve lets out an airy chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, you're a fan! You have to tell!"

He looks up at me smiling innocently with his light blush still on his face. "There's no arguing with you, is there?"

I shake my head smiling. "Nope!"

"There are just…some of my," Steve looks away, trying to think of the right word to come next, "co-workers have been poking fun at the fact that I have been watching _Swing_ for a while now." If it's possible, his blush intensifies to a bright red.

"You like it that much?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me "ma'am;" you're making me sound like my mom."

A certain look passes over his face once I say that; his blush leaves, his brows scrunch together, and a small frown tugs at his lips. Taking a quick bite of the peace offering, I tilt my head in confusion at his sudden change in expression.

"You okay?" I ask, talking around the chop-sticks in my mouth.

"Yes, but…, Tessa," he looks up at me now, "is it true that you're adopted?"

I blink, my brows knit together in confusion. Steve told me he is a fan, and yet he asks me this? I've mentioned the lack of my true parental heritage numerous times in the past.

"Well, yeah. I…I am adopted and I don't know where or who my real parents are. I've tried to find them in the past, but to no avail." I stare off past his wide shoulder, no longer paying any real attention to anything around me. "Over twenty-five years ago, my parents – Abraham and Rosabella Maberry – found me on the side of the road. You know there was a thunderstorm when they found me, right, and I was in a puddle no less, too? Every time I think about it I hate them more and more. They didn't even have the common decency to wrap me in a baby blanket or even drop me off at a hospital or church! They only wrapped me up in a thin, white night gown."

My voice is no long my own; it's cold and full of absolute hate.

The lights around us dim and flicker.

"The only thing that was left from them is this necklace," my hand falls to the sterling silver, diamond key hanging from my neck. I look up at him with an empty stare. "I don't know why I keep it; I just do. It has become a part of me almost. With everything that has happened to me – from my birth parents leaving me to die to now – I've rarely taken it off."

Despite my cold undertone, Steve smiles at me with kindness in his eyes. "I know. But," he loses his kind expression, "you honestly don't know?"

I shake my head. "No idea."

"And…that moment today?"

My eyes are looking up at him in a flash. I press my thumb along the chopsticks, feeling the smooth wood slowly bend and crack with the increasing amount of pressure. My jaw tenses as I resist the urge to yell and scream at him. A form of bitterness bubbles to life inside of me; so he's a bad cop in disguise.

"As I've told Mr. One Eye, I don't know." My words are like fire and venom. "Had I known I would've said so, so I wouldn't have to deal with all of this."

The lights are flickering angrily all around.

Steve looks down, like I've just kicked him.

_Poor puppy._

"I'm sorry, Miss Maberry. I didn't mean to—"

I shove the would-be peace offering towards him. My blue eyes are like daggers as I glare at him. "You should be. Are you a performing monkey, Steve Rogers? Is that why you've come here with this," – I gesture to the box of Chinese food – "is that why you said you're a fan, or how about the nice guy act?"

There's a distinct _pop_ sound from somewhere below, which is quickly followed by yelling. The lights above Steve and I are burning brightly; they even start to make a buzzing sound from the intensity.

He looks around us frantically.

Everything, but him, is fading away. Just like with Dr. Goodwin, I'm only focusing on Steve. "Just who the hell do you think you are, Rogers?"

"Tessa," he looks at me with concern. He opens his mouth, but the voice that sounds is not his.

"Miss Maberry," I glare at Mr. One Eye, nearly growling at his calm demeanor.

"What?" I spat.

"You're free to go."

"What?" my voice is soft, dripping with skepticism. I lean away from him, pressing myself against the glass walls and away from Steve.

"Do I need to paint her Majesty a picture? You can go home now. You're no longer a prisoner."

Steve stands and walks up to him. "Director," so that's who Mr. One Eye is. He and Steve mumble things to each other, looking away from me.

I glance back and forth as they talk; wishing I knew what they were talking about. In my peripheral vision I can see the lights slowly stop flickering and buzzing. I can't hear the chopping sound of the four massive blades.

"Miss Maberry," I perk up at the sound of my name. The director motions towards the descending stairs. "Agent Robertson will escort you to the car, if you wish to leave."

With the air of a suck-up celebrity, I stand tall – glaring at both men. "Yes, I do."

Like a scorned teenager, I purposely bump my shoulder with Steve's bicep as I walk around him to walk down the steps. I carefully walk down the grate, steel steps. I don't look down at my feet; knowing that the illusion will be broken if I do.

There's a sudden rush of footsteps behind me. "Tessa!"

I look over my shoulder, glaring up at Steve (totally ignoring how tall and well-defined he is). "What?" I growl. I'm almost out of here, can't he leave me alone?

"I…," his voice grows soft as he nears my face, blue eyes full of earnest emotion, "I really didn't want to ask such a personal question or make you revisit something you wish you hadn't. It's just that I…I had—"

Against my better judgment I turn to him and place a hand on his shoulder. Despite my kind act to silence him, my tone of voice is sharp, "I know. You were just following orders." My hand falls into my coat's pocket as a very small smile tugs at my lips. "Just know that if you continue to follow those orders blindly, I may come back and order you to stay with me. Forever. Do you understand?"

A knowing, broad smile takes up most of Steve's face, which causes his cheeks to become a rosy pink and my smile to widen. "Yes, ma'am." He nods an adorable gleam in his pretty eyes.

I nod once, saying "Very well, then," before turning away from him and walk down the steps. When I'm at the bottom of the steps and take back my purse from Robertson, I turn to look back up. "Rogers," I call out.

"Yes?" I see him peak down the steps.

I point up at him, telling him, "Do not mistake that little exchange as forgiveness; I'm still very pissed off at you. Remember that if we ever meet up again." Even though my words and tone are serious, a small smirk reveals itself on my lips. It is amazing I can play serious roles in some films.

His adorable smile shows itself again. "I will."

"Good. Now," I turn to the agent, "take me home, Jives."

The walk to the outside of the helicarrier is silent; the rapid typing seems soft now and less frantic and people aren't talking or barking out orders. All the sounds that I first heard are either non-existent or have softened remarkably. Despite the workers looking at their computer screens, I can feel multiple pairs of eyes on me. Eager to get out I walk a step ahead of Robertson forcing my breathing to stay as regular as possible.

I scan my gaze hurriedly over everything; catching glances of others and computer screens. Just before I step out of the helicarrier, I notice that everyone has the same insignia on their uniforms. On a light blue – nearly silver – circular badge (nearly shield like) there's the silhouette of a bird of prey.

_These aren't normal cops._

Agent Robertson opens the car door for me, and I keeping my head down as I slide in.

…

The driver, Robertson, and I spend the ride in silence. Robertson looks ahead of himself; staring holes into the back of the front seat. I watch as the woods turn to city, which turns to suburbs. The car slows as it nears my apartment. My side of the car is locked, for "special" reasons no doubt, but I'm allowed out.

My mouth falls and a squeak rips past my lips at the sight of my car sitting in the driveway. I rush over to it to search for any internal or external damage. Thankfully, it's still sleek, shiny, and has that new car smell. My relief is short lived.

"How in the hell did you—" I bark as I spin around to face him.

Already the black car is speeding away.

Huffing, I wish out my keys. "Freaks."

I glance at the trees and bushes hoping – no, pleading! – that the paparazzi won't come jumping out of them. They've done that at the start, and still do at some points in my career, now they'll be swarming at my front door. I'm surprised that they weren't even waiting for me here.

_Come to think of it, there hasn't been much of anybody._

I look up and down the street; searching for a sign of life. My neighbors aren't on their lawns, the kids aren't screaming and laughing, and the dogs aren't barking. Even the birds refuse to make a tweet. Goosebumps rise along my arms and legs and up my back.

_Something feels… off._

With each step I take towards the front door, I sweep my eyes back and forth and straining my ears to search for a sign of life. My key isn't a mere inch from the doorknob's keyhole, before it's thrown open and I'm stumbling backwards with a tight grip around my person. Seeing a pink stream within a mass of dark brown I slowly pat Madison's back.

"Hey…, Madi." I sheepishly say with a cheesy grin.

She rips away from me with a blaze in her eyes and teeth bared. "Where have you been?! I've been calling you and texting you nonstop since this afternoon! I left, like, a hundred messages… each! Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?" she examines my arms, moving them in every direction to get better looks at them.

"I'm fine," my arms slide out of her grasp, "but I'd rather not we have this discussion outside." I whisper to her as I slip inside.

As Madi shuts the door behind she says, "Mr. Stark let me go after what he saw on the news. And once I saw your car in the driveway I thought you'd be home – you weren't. Where'd you go?"

I hear her words and I feel the concern coming off of her in waves, but I can't bring myself to answer. I take off my shoes and hang my jacket on the coat rack all rather robotically, thinking of a way to answer her without telling her the overall truth.

"I went to the hospital." I finally tell her. "They ran all these types of tests on me and, before that really, I called to have my car towed back here. I'll cover the bills."

Thankfully, she nods. The concern, however, is still there.

"You're sure you're okay?"

I nod, a sudden exhaustion overcoming me. "Yeah, everything just took a lot out of me today. I'm gonna go ahead and fall asleep early."

"Alright, but if you get hungry I made some food." She jerks her thumb over to the kitchen. I smile when I see that she's been so worried about me; when she's worried about anything she either cooks a _lot_ of food or cleans in entire house. The kitchen just looks like a small tornado hit the area.

"Thanks, I'll probably wake up in the middle of night to eat something." I tell her as I walk backwards to my room.

"Okay."

Just before I turn around, I hear her mumble; "Now I get to clean all~ this up. Yay, me."

I can't help but chuckle and shake my head.

Gently shutting my bedroom door behind me, I sigh and lean back against it. I just let the day's events play through my head as I try to figure out how this happened. I have a relatively fast metabolism and I could always heal fast….

_But this,_ I think looking down at my arm, _this is just weird._

I strip down to my bra and panties, before flopping down on my bed. Remaining laying down, I rearrange myself so my head is cradled by my feather filled pillows. Once again, I have failed to close my curtains. I just can't bring myself out from under my covers and lift my head. Coming to the conclusion that if I don't look at it, it will all be okay.

Sleep comes to me soon after and I'm once again taken away in dreams.

This dream isn't like the others. I can… feel it. See it, too. There are long, tall golden halls with ionic pillars standing strong below to hold it up and allow me to look at the greenery. I don't though. I continue to walk down the halls, the echoing sounds of my heeled shoes bouncing off the walls. There's a tug in my chest and a whisper in my ear. Both are telling me to walk.

Just walk. Not to think or wonder where I'm going – just walk.

I know I'm not dressed like I normally am. The sleeves run down to my wrists in a constricting satin fabric with a large skirt brushing against the hard flooring. My hands are folded in front of me and my hair is twisted away from my face. The sounds of metal against metal and loud laughter ring in my ears and a smile reaches my lips.

A motherly voice calling a name causes my lips to frown and sigh to leave past them. I can feel the course of my destination change towards the motherly voice. The sound of clashing metal and loud laughter is slowly replaced with the sound of nothingness.

Tiny hairs on my neck and arms rise up; I look behind myself. There's nothing there. However, once I turn back to walk, a cold hand slips into mine and holds it tight. Looking up I only see a tall silhouette of a curved-horned man.

_I know those horns._

The horned man rips me away and runs down a secret corridor. We're laughing, chuckling, and giggling and trying to shush each other miserably. We hide behind of the pillars and the tapestries, covering the other's mouth to stifle our giggles. The horned man looks out from our hiding spot, he tugs on my hand and we continue running down the hall.

Our rushing feet are replaced with galloping hooves – we're riding on horseback across rolling green hills. We each have our own steed; his is a chestnut stallion and mine a white-gray mare. We're still laughing, now uncontrollably since we're free to do so.

Next, we're under a tree. It's massive shadow over us and our horses. My back is against the bark and the man's head in my lap – his helm off, next to us. I brush my fingers in his hair as he reads from a book; the words soft on the wind.

_"And yet I love her," he reads, his smooth voice like honey to my ears, "till the day I die."_ (3) He continues the read the lovely poem, his tone of voice slowly changing. Then, he reads a different romantic poem.

Ever so slowly do the marvelous chirping birds (they don't seem that annoying here), turn into obnoxious robotic beeps. I open my eyes and I'm not in a field of rolling green hills under a massive tree. I'm in my room, curled under the blankets, with my alarm clock blasting out continuous beeps. Groaning, I shut my eyes and my arm leaves the warmth to find the button that will turn off the alarm.

It's when I slam my hand down is when the beeping stops. I quickly bring my cold arm back under the safety of the blankets. I can't find sleep again though. Whether it is due to my alarm clock that magically set itself or the sunlight streaming in through my windows, I don't know. So I lay here, for several hours opening and closing my eyes to find sleep again and thinking of my dream. I know Madi already when out to work, so I can't ask her what she thinks it means. And no one else can interrupt them better than she can.

Rolling onto my back I stare blankly at the ceiling. I can still see the man; his silhouette a stark contrast to the white paint. His curved horns ever prominent.

"I know I've seen that man before." I whisper to myself.

_But where?_

Tearing my quilt off my bed I wrap it around myself and walk out of my room. I really should invest in one of those Snuggies if I'm gonna strip down to just my bra and panties. I stop at the hallway's threshold though; remembering what happened just yesterday late afternoon.

"Shit!"

Quickly, like a deer, I run back to my room and shut the blinds. Throwing my quilt over my bed I throw open my wide closet and pick out random sets of clothing. Not truly caring if anything matches. Something is better than nothing.

Straining my ears and cautiously I walk down the dark, short hall. I poke my head out of the threshold and look at all the windows for several minutes. Hoping that my peripheral vision will catch something while I look somewhere else. I know something's not right; I can feel it.

With a calming sigh I straighten my back and walk out to the kitchen. I can smell the bacon and eggs in the air; she was nervous this morning too. I squeal in delight once I see not the two breakfast foods, but also Tater Tots. I make a large plate and reheat it in the microwave. In that short time I walk over the windows near our front door and glance out. A frown tugs at my lips when I see the bushes move, crouched people in baggy black jackets, and my car is missing. Madi took my only means of escape. Damn her.

I turn back to the kitchen, ignoring the hushed whispers and snap shots, when the microwave is finished. Glancing down at the counter table I see a note. It reads, in quick jerky script:

_Beware going outside! The monsters are out there now!_

_~Madi_

"Thanks, Madi." I say with a semi-sarcastic wit. "What would I do without you?" I toss the note over my shoulder, inwardly cheering when I hear it go into the trash bin. Curling up on the Lazy Boy recliner, I turn on the TV. While, steering clear of any type of news. And that's how I spend the rest of the day; calling my parents to ease their parental nerves, calling Fred to calm him down, watching movies, eating lots of food, and not stepping a toe outside.

It's when I hear my car rolling up our short driveway – and the mod of flashing cameras and muddled shouts – do I look up from my bowl of ice cream. A frazzled Madison steps through the door with a tired sigh.

Licking off the Bunny Track residue from my lips, I smile at her. "Hey."

She nods in my direction, tossing her purse down and kicking off her shoes. "Hey."

A grin rises to my lips. "How was work today?"

"Hell," she glares at me, knowing that I know. "My co-workers kept bugging and corning me. Mr. Stark even called me into a meeting! You know how terrified I was? Thankfully, he took the news very well and made a joke of it. After that no one really talked to me."

"Joke… how?"

"Oh just that you're a Barbie doll version of Thor?"

"Thor?" I twist myself so that I can look at her more clearly as she walks into the kitchen. "I remembered to leave food for you by the way."

"Thanks. And Thor is one of the Avengers – those guys that saved New York, and the world, a few months back. The tall scruffy faced guy with the blonde hair and red cape." She makes motions with her hands on how tall he is, the hair on his face and head, and the long cape. She quickly takes out her dinner and sets up a plate, before setting it in the microwave.

I blink owlishly. "He's called me Barbie before, but not that. I can't believe I remind him of a blonde alien dude. Hm, at least Thor's a badass superhero."

"Good lookin', too."

"Gross." I say, turning back to the screen.

The microwave dings and Madi is soon seated with me. "Oh, come on! You dated plenty of men with scruff."

"And how long did they last?"

There's a brief pause, before she answers. "Not long. What are we watching by the way?"

"Exactly, I can't stand the short brittles. They hurt if I kissed his cheek or if he kissed me. And I have no idea; I've been mostly channeling surfing the last few hours."

"Oh," she tilts her head, "at least it's funny." She takes a large bite of her dinner. "I guess that's good. I don't have to worry about you sleeping with Mr. Stark."

"ONE TIME!" I shout, disgusting goose-bumps rising up on my arms and legs. "It was one fucking time! And we were both drunk! I have to shower."

I can hear her evil smirk growing on her lips. "Isn't that what you guys did in the shower?"

I scream, shaking some of the portraits on the walls, as I slam the bathroom door shut. The shower nozzle is spun until the water is steaming hot. After getting fresh towels and a washcloth, I angrily tear off my lazy mismatched clothes and hop in. Rubbing my skin until it's pink; I can't help but think of what happened so long ago.

Tony Stark, much many times before, threw a party. For what reason, I don't know. He just did for the say of having another party. We (I more so unknowingly) had a drinking contest. As the party grew to a close, he and I started talking. Both of us were decently drunk – him more than I, but he'd deny it each and every time. We both kept drinking and drinking until we had to lean against each other for support to stand up. I ignored the voice screaming in my head when he asked me to join him upstairs. After we bypassed the bed completely, we settled for the shower. You can imagine what transpired after that. ~~Then, the bed.~~ (4)

Thankfully, he doesn't know I know Madi very well and that we live together.

Up until this point, we've never spoke of it. Tony and I never even spoke of it again – we flirt, but we don't speak of IT.

Wrapping the large, fluffy towel around me I prance to my room and dress in my Eeyore pajamas. I send an evil glare to my roommate and harshly whisper, "We do not speak of it!"

She lets out a loud laugh, before going into her room.

When I lock my door, I hear Madi walk out of hers and into the bathroom. The shower head spewing water out soon becomes white noise and I'm crawling up my bed to pull my curtains down. After which, I look at my cell phone again.

_Mom: Sure, sweetie, stay as long as you like! :)_

_Tessa: Thx, Mom. I'll b there ASAP 2morrow._

I twist my body so that I can search under my bed. "Ah-ha!" I shout, whipping out my Norse Mythology book. I wiggle under my covers and flip through the pages; searching for the long, curved horns. I'm only a few pages in when I spot a hunched over man, dressed in black and green and gold, with a sneer on his face, and a golden horned helm on his head. On the next page, just above the text, it reads: LOKI.

"Loki…." The name sounds familiar as it falls from my lips. I lean back and close my eyes, picturing the illustration and the silhouette from my dream. "Loki…." The colors melt into the silhouette, filling everything up in the proper places. The cartoon illustration is soon gone and a tall, menacing man is at the forefront of my mind. "Loki…. Little Loki." I smile at the nickname I came up with. I can feel sleep pulling at me, burning my eyes and urging them to stay shut. "Who exactly are you, Little Loki?"

**~ Asgard ~**

_"Loki…. Loki…. Loki…."_ The gentle voice whispers knitting her fingers in dark hair.

Loki lays back in his cell – hands knitted together on his stomach and back uncomfortably straight on the stiff bed. Yet, he can feel the warm spring sun on his face and the soft breeze brushing thin strands of hair across his face. If it's his hair, or the maiden's above him, he doesn't know. He doesn't care to open his eyes and ruin the moment.

_"Little Loki."_ Her voice is soft; he can hear and feel her now. _"Who exactly are you, Little Loki?"_

The illusion is broken when he opens his eyes.

"I am Loki," he starts, his voice soft and unused, "the God of Lies and Mischief. I am Loki; whose whim brought Asgard crashing down. I am Loki, whose tongue was an anvil where the sharpest lies were forged. I am Loki, and I have things to say that you must know.

"I am Loki, who you must not trust."

Loki Laufeyson (if he does wish to take that last name) is a form of demon, and his horns are curved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: What did you guys think? :) Did you guys find THAT new bit of info as funny as I did?**
> 
> **Key:**  
>  3) This actually IS a poem. It's called There is a Lady Sweet and Kind by Anonymous, and is read by Tom Hiddleston. You can hear on youtube – again and again and again.
> 
> 4) I'll answer the question now, yes, Tessa and Tony had sex. And yes, I know Tony's about forty-three years old and Tessa's twenty-five. (It did happen years ago, too.) I don't know how it happened, it just did. When I wrote the "ick, on scruffy faced men" bit that part just came out. I find it absolutely hilarious! Don't worry; Tessa will still end up with either Steve or Loki. And the Tony issue won't have a BIG impact on the story; I just found it funny. Can you imagine them being together? Hahaha.  
> (Mind you, I LOVE scruffy faced men! … and smooth faced men.)
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:*****  
>  Loki- 4  
> Steve- 3
> 
> **Next chapter's title:  
>  Parental Guidance is Found in Nightmares**


	8. Parental Guidance is Found in Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare Tessa has leads Frigga a step closer to finding her daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Am I the only one who thinks the preimere of "THOR 2: The Dark World" should've been on a THORSday? Get it? I think that would highly amusing. xD Sadly, I will not be seeing this movie anytime soon - school. I'm hoping that it'll still be in theaters by mid-December. *crosses fingers*  
>  We'll see.**
> 
> **Time for thanks! A big thanks for those how have voted: Cknobby23, Kivutar, and SelfMadeShouffle. With those voters there are, also, some who have given this story some kudos: SelfMadeShouffle and a guest or two. Thank you all SO MUCH!**
> 
> **Since I've last updated, the votes have grown exponentially! We have exactly reached double digits (yet), but we're close.  
>  The ***VOTE COUNT*** is now:  
> Loki- 7  
> Steve- 3  
> I'm very interested in seeing where this story will go.**
> 
> ****WARNING!**  
>  There is a multitude of new OCs, massive FORESHADOWING, and the need to add dramatic music (as my beta reader told me). It's nothing major, just thought I'd give you guys/gals a heads up.**
> 
> **Read, enjoy, and review/vote!**

"You're up early."

"Hm?" I look up from my bowlful of Fruit Loops to see a befuddled Madi walking down the dark corridor dressed in her crinkled Tinkerbelle pajamas.

"How is it that you don't get pillow-head hair?" she asks, looking through the blank white refrigerator.

"I dunno." I say with a shrug, brushing back a golden lock. "I guess I was just born this way. You workin' today?"

"Nope! Ah-ha! Here they are." She takes out a package of lunch meat, cheese, an egg, and a bagel from the freezer. With those she starts to make a breakfast sandwich.

"Do you think you could get a ride with a co-worker or friend? I'm gonna be spending some time with my parents and let this whole thing settle down."

"Sure! And if not, I'll call the taxi service. I'm shocked you didn't go yesterday." She takes the now defrosted bagel out of the microwave and places the slices in the toaster. While, she's taking care of her sunny-side up egg on the stove.

"Well, somebody took my car yesterday!" I grumble over a spoonful of loopy cereal.

She lets out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, but they kinda surprised me. I had to think fast."

"And left me stranded." I sigh. "On the up side I took care of the overstocked food issue."

"That's true." She sighs as she sits down in the living room, crossing her legs Indian style on our light purple L-shaped sofa. She turns on the news – my eyes glance to the screen when I hear my name – she quickly changes it to something else. "Do you think you'll be back in time for the party Mr. Stark will be throwing? An invite will be coming soon. I heard your name, too."

I visibly cringe at the name. Thankfully, Madi's too preoccupied with the television screen to notice. Good. "How long 'til then?"

"About a week."

Blowing a raspberry, I look up at the ceiling. Hoping that'll it'll give me some answers. There's bound to be paparazzi at the party; dazzling lights and numerous shouts over another. Red velvet ropes and a matching carpet leading to the front door. Gaudy crystal chandeliers will be hanging from the ceiling. Long tables will be on either side of the room draped in white with an array of food and a bar behind them. Music will be going on the entire night – not the prom stuff though.

_And if I don't go – if I'm even invited – Tony will find a way to annoy the shit outta me._

"Alright, if I get an invite I'll go. Hopefully by then this Barbie She-Hulk incident will be over with and we can get on with our lives."

"Yay!" She punches the air. Looking over the back of the couch she grins at me. "Just don't get too dru—"

"NAH!" I point my spoon at her. "Don't say it! Don't repeat it! Don't even whisper it! Or any combination of the sort! It was a long time ago, and we were drunk. You weren't even working for him then. And neither of us ever mentioned it to the press, so," I push out of the kitchen chair, put my dishes in the dishwasher, "I'm gonna get ready and leave."

I walk to my room with a straight back and stiff legs. The last couple of weeks have been hell (not being able to work with this scar on my arm, the car incident that happened yesterday, and now Madison bring up what happened years ago), I don't need all this stress. I'll be a silver vixen for sure in the next few years if this continues.

After stripping out of my pajamas, I put on the necessary underwear and take out my duffle bag. Throwing open my large closet I gaze over the multitude of clothes. I lick my lips, searching for something suitable for farm-wear. I fold and stuff old T-shirts and tank tops, jeans, socks, underwear, pajamas, and other necessities into my bag. Strutting over to my closet, with my hands on my hips, I look for an outfit to wear.

"Hmm…. Oh! This'll do!" I throw a plain red tank top with a subtle metallic gleam and dark blue, low-rise boot-cut jeans. Shutting my closet I pull on my shirt and jeans, and I walk to my dresser drawer to pull out a brown leather belt. "You sure were easy to find." I grin as I weave it through the loops on my jeans. Now that I'm dressed and my shoes are by my bedroom door, I clean my room and make my bed. Opening the curtains last, I smile at the warmth of the sun.

Humming a soft tune, I walk towards one of my dressers and open the drawer that holds a multitude of purses – from thick strapped bags to fine clutches. While smiling, I take out a neutral colored crochet tote bag. The tassels flop uselessly once it lands on my freshly made bed. I quickly move everything from yesterday's purse to this one. Tossing the other into the drawer I shrug the thick, belt-like strap onto my shoulder. After successfully shoving on my brown, full-grain leather boots on when I'm outside my room, I walk out to the main room.

"I'm heading out," I say, taking my straw cowboy hat off the coat rack near the door. "I'll be back in, like, a week. Before the party for sure."

"Tessa," Madi calls.

Turning around I see her coming up to me with a look of sorrow etched on her face.

"You know I was only joking, right? I didn't mean to sound like a bi—"

I cut her by waving my hand dismissively in the air. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it." I gently press my loose fist into her jaw – a mock hit, telling her to buck up. "I'm a tough cookie, I can handle it. 'Sides we've known each other too long to let something like that come between us. Sisters before misters, right?"

"Right." She lightly laughs. "Nothing can come between us."

She needs reassurance. I know. Despite all the shit we've been through together sometimes we both need to know that the other will always be there for the other.

"Nothing," I tell her, "even if one of us has to live in a galaxy far, far away. And even then I'll be thinking about you, my dear sweet sister." I wrap my free arm around her shoulders. "I'll catch ya' later. Text me if you need!" With that said I go out into the shark tank.

I'm instantly bombarded with white flashing lights and loud voices coming at me from every direction. All I hear is my name over and over again; each reporter, paparazzi person begging for answers. I keep my head down and toss my luggage into the back and passenger seat. _I shoulda put on my sunglasses._

"Tessa, where are you going?"

"Tessa, are you fleeing the country?"

They all ask – each question is slowly blending together. I quickly slide into my car – forcing myself to leave the roof up – and plop my hat down on top of my purse. My fingers move fluidly as the pick up the keys and turn them in the ignition. However, I have to slowly back out of our drive way; gently nudging people with the car's rear end. I'm sure people will I brutally hit them with it and get a lawsuit, but it's not my fault they didn't move out of the way.

Finally, I'm out of our short driveway and more or less speeding down the rural road. Thanking whatever deity is watching me that everyone stays off the road. Once I come to a four-way stop sign, and no one is around, I fish out my iPhone and call my parents.

"Hello?" answers my mom; her once heavy Italian accent nearly lost.

"Hey, Mom, I just wanted to let you know I'll be over in a few hours. That okay? Do you need me to get anything while I'm out?" Despite not living with them anymore, and in another state, I always ask if they need me to get anything before I get there. Hell, I carry more than enough money on me.

I put her on speaker as I roll away from the stop, carefully putting my phone on my lap.

"Hi, _tesoro_!" she coos in Italian. Her sweet voice is nearly lost over the sound of a barking dog. " _Grazie_ , for the update. You don't need to get us anything – we're good here. Drive safely."

"Alright, I will. _Ciao, ti amo_."

" _Ciao, ti amo_."

Glancing down, I end the call and carefully place my cell back in my bag.

Growing up in a house with parents that spoke both Italian and English was truly a blessing; although at the time I didn't know it. I thought everyone's mom and dad spoke two different languages. My mom, Rosabella, was a traveler in her younger years, but was born and raised in Milan, Italy. She often spoke in Italian when I was a child. In order to communicate with her and her family, my dad, Abraham, learned how to speak it. Growing up in that type of environment, I learned both English and Italian.

…

I stay away from any rural roads on my drive for as long as possible, until I must go under high and curved trees. Their shadows cover the asphalt in blurred silhouettes. I know this road like I know the back of my hand; thus, my mind begins to wonder. I rethink of everything that happened two days ago. My hands tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles are white and my fingertips are bright red.

I desperately wish that I punched Mr. One Eye and kicked him in his balls. How awesome would that be? Or even if I just spat in his face. Gawd, I wish I did SOMETHING to him before I left. Something tells me that if I did that, he'd hurt me far worse than I could. There are moments like this where I wish I had an older brother to do those types of things.

Sadly, my mom is unable to have children.

My grip lessens and a broad grin spreads across my lips when I spot the three handprints covering the mailbox – a large red one (Dad's), a thin blue one (Mom's), and a small purple one (mine). I turn into the long, narrow dirt path and I'm nearly bouncing in my seat. Turning off the stereo, I'm greeted with the sounds of barking dogs, oinking pigs, clucking chickens, moaning cows, neighing horses, and clashing metal.

Pulling up to the tall, white paneled farm house, I see my old friend – Buddy – barking. Mom walks up to the screen door, drying her hands. Her lips widen into a smile once she sees me getting out of the car.

" _Ciao, Mamma!_ " I shout, waving at her while slinging on my duffle bag.

" _Ciao, tesoro!_ " she says opening the door. Buddy comes running down the few wooden steps, fanned tail wagging and barking loudly.

"Hi, Buddy!" I coo, falling to my knees and holding out my hands.

Through the foggy blue in his eyes, I can see a glimmer of joy and recognition in them. His spotted tongue laps at my face and he steps left and right, curling between my legs and nuzzling my chest. I laugh at the kisses and affection; I haven't seen him in three months and he still remembers me. I gently pet behind his ears and eagerly on his chest and just above his tail. The old dog crumbles to the ground, whimpering and whining joyfully from the attention.

"You remember me! You remember me!" I say in a high-pitched voice.

Buddy makes a happy whine sound from the back of his throat. His nuzzles to my chest become so powerful I nearly fall backwards. My mom laughs at the sight.

"Okay, okay, okay. Lemme up, Old Man." I groan, giving him a final pet on the head. I reposition my hat on my head and straighten my luggage.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask as I walk up to the house. Buddy is right at my heels, hopping up the short steps.

"Nothing, nothing. Now," my mom opens her arms, "c'mere and hug me!"

I laugh, tightly wrapping my arms around her shoulders. Hers wrap around my waist.

"It's so nice to see you, Tessa." She says into my hair, petting it. We pull apart and she looks me up and down, gazing at my bare arms. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better."

"Come in, put your stuff away, and we'll talk."

"Okay," I quickly slide my hat off and leave it hanging by the door. She and I walk in before Buddy, who follows me until I reach the numerous stairs. He whines from the bottom of them, before the clicking of his nails carry him away from the staircase. The stairs creak under my feet as I ascend them, despite my gentle footfalls. I pass a wall of photos on my way up – them ranging from my parents earlier years together to when I was a late teenager.

I sigh when my bags plop to the foot of my bed, grateful for the weight to be gone. Everything is as I left it; not a blanket or trinket out of place. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring everything with me when I moved. I couldn't take the risk of someone stealing them. Resisting the urge to fall onto my bed, I stuff my cell phone into my pocket and walk back down the steps. My sense of smell is overcome with the scent of lavender tea; I smile a sense of calm wrapping around me.

My mom is walking towards the small kitchen table with delicate tea cups in her hands, steam floating up from each of them. Buddy walks up to me, panting happily. My fingertips graze over his head. Forebodingly I sit next to my mom, resisting the urge to just rest my head on her shoulder and cry. Everything is crumbling and I refuse to be like most young superstars nowadays and go wild.

"Now, Tessa," she says, sitting so close to me I can smell her perfume, "tell me all about it." And with a tight throat and tear filled eyes I tell her everything (lying about being kidnapped; saying men in black wouldn't leave me alone). The mascara I chose to wear leaves burning tracks on my face and my words come out in coherent jumbles of words. From time to time she reminds me to drink my tea; once I do I'm able to talk a little better. Buddy nuzzles my thigh before plopping his head on my lap.

"I…I just don't know what to do." I say after taking a gulp of calming tea.

Her hand messages my shoulder and she kisses my temple. "It's going to die down. Things like this always do – so long as you don't do it again."

"I don't plan to, Mom."

"Then, the best thing you can do is stand tall with a stiff upper lip and make jokes about it." She says grinning.

I smile with her, kissing her cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, _tesoro_. Now finish your tea; your Dad has been talking nonstop since your text last night. He wants to go horseback riding with you as soon as possible."

My smile widens at the thought of spending time with him. _Mom always said I was a Daddy's Girl._

"Alright," I say, picking up the porcelain cup, "but we'll talk too, right?"

"Of course," she says, kissing my crown. "Just remember it works best if you take your time. Isn't your favorite show on soon?"

Looking at the clock on the stove I see that she's right. "Oh, yeah! Thanks!" I carefully push out my chair and take the tea plate and cup to the living room. I instinctively curl up in the corner of the Lazy Boy sofa and turn on the television. The next thirty minutes are spent in front of a television screen with a rarely good Disney show on and sipping lavender tea.

When the cartoon is over and my cup is empty, I get up and return to the kitchen to clean the delicate cup and plate. After gingerly placing them next to the sink, on a paper towel to dry, I run to front door. I rip my hat off the coat rack and burst through the screen door, grinning widely. Now, without any form of dread and ominous on my chest, I feel positively giddy as I run across our large backyard to the large red barn in the distance. The sounds of farm life grow more and more intense; along with my dad shouting and clashing metal striking through the air.

My chest is heaving up and down once I reach the large barn doors. Most of the horse stalls are empty; either they're out in the field or Dad and his students are learning how to joust.

Once I can breathe normally again I let out a low whistle. There's rustling from the middle of the barn and a large tan equine head pokes out from a stall. I laugh and jog up to him, avoiding any barn cats as I do so.

"Hey, boy." I say softly, stroking his long nose.

Spirit is dancing on his hooves and makes happy neighing sounds.

"You wanna go out for a ride?" I nod my head him.

He nods in return, snorting happily.

"Alright, watch out." I open the door for him.

The tall, buckskinned stallion comes prancing out, dancing around me, pushing at my chest and back, and throwing small bucks behind him. I laugh and pet him when I can, telling him how much I missed him and how sorry I am that I haven't visited in a while.

"Okay, okay! I have to get you dressed, silly boy!" I laugh.

"Woah!" I nearly trip when he surprises me by pushing against my back. "Hey!" I whirl around and point at him, voice commanding. "Stop it. We'll have plenty of time to play later."

He doesn't do that again, he merely stands there obediently as I dress him. It's when I'm seated in the saddle does he start neighing and dancing again.

"Alright, c'mon," I turn ourselves around, looking for anything in our path. "He-yah!" I kick back into his sides once I know the path is clear. I hold on tight – jerking back a little at the sudden speed – with a large grin on my face. We run the large girth of the land – jumping and weaving over small obstacles, running side-by-side other horses that are fenced in.

In the past three months, I forgot what it felt like to ride – to feel the large muscles move symmetrically under my legs, moving on top of him, to know what he knows, to work with an animal that has a mind of his own, and to get somewhere with that animal. Judging by how he's running and acting, Spirit feels just as ecstatic as I do. This is exactly what I've needed.

"Hey, Tessa!" someone shouts.

Looking over my shoulder I see a stablehand waving at me; I wave back. "Hey!" I round Spirit and me about and run up to him. Up close I see it's Scruffy Steve.

"You're dad is heard ya' were here; he's lookin' for ya'." He says, scratching his salt and pepper Santa-Claus-like beard. "He's around the Ring."

My face is hurting from all the smiling I've been doing. Now – if it's possible – it widens. "Okay," I turn us around and run to the Ring, "thanks, Steve!"

"No problem! Glad to have you back!"

"Thanks!"

Spirit and I don't encounter much as we ride along the rolling green hills; but people shout, welcome me back, and point to were my dad is. I shout, say thanks, and run ever eagerly to him. The dark fence, brightly colored flags, and shining metal grows more and more obvious as we get closer and closer. One man in particular stands out from the rest. He isn't dressed in highly protective armor like the other men and women, his horse stands calmly under him and isn't dressed from Medieval times, and he's barking orders…corrections from his stallion.

"DAD!" I shout, slowing down to raise one hand up to wave at him.

He whirls around and shouts, "TESSA!"

The large, black Percheron horse sprints up to the fence, practically flying over it when he can. Spirit and I match their gallop; coming to a slow stop when we reach each other. My dad and I lean over and hug each other tightly; he nearly takes me out my seat! People are cheering and banging their shields from the Ring. I don't hear them. All I can hear is my dad's laugh and him telling me how much he missed me. His short auburn scruff leaves a familiar prickling scratch on my cheek as he kisses me.

"I missed you, too, Dad." I tell him, not letting go, kissing his cheek in return. (His and Uncle Pete's scruff are the only ones I'll ever love.) But, like all other things, I must let go. We correct ourselves on our saddles and walk up to the Ring.

"You look good," he says, gray hazel eyes misty and refusing to shed their welling tears. "How have you been? I heard what happened are you okay?"

"Thanks, you look good, too." I smile at him in reassurance. "I've been better, a lot now that I had tea with Mom and got away from New York. If it's only for a little bit. And according to my tests, everything is normal."

"Okay, but are you _okay_?"

I shrug. "I think so. I _hope_ so. I haven't had any other freak accidents."

A stablehand opens the gate for us.

"There aren't any more aliens are there? You guys haven't encountered any of them again, have you?" my dad asks.

"No, I don't think so. I think it'd be kinda hard to miss them if they decided to come back." I shudder at the thought of another wormhole opening up in the sky and aliens pouring out of it. One is enough thank you.

Cheers erupt from the stands and ground, all shouting, "Welcome back, Tessa!"

I laugh and wave at everyone. "Thanks, guys!"

"Tessa!" a male voice cries.

"Uncle Pete!"

Just like my dad, Uncle Pete nearly pulls me out of my seat when his large, grizzly arms wrap around me. He shakes me a little, muttering in my hair.

"Hi, Uncle Pete," I grumble, patting his arm, "I missed you, too. Can you let me go now? I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry!" he releases me, grinning broadly. "I'm sure Rosa and Abe already asked the normal questions," he begins as the three of us walk towards the stands, "I'll ask the question every one of the boys are DYING to know: You got a boyfriend yet?"

"Pete…." My dad's voice carries a warning tone to it.

I'm unable to help myself, I laugh. After everything that's happened to me so far, I haven't heard that question yet.

"No, Uncle Pete," I answer, shaking my head, "I'm not dating anyone."

"Alright," he grins, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. "You hear that boys!" his voice rings through the stadium. "She's single!"

Hoots and hollers and banging shields sound throughout the Ring.

I cover my face to hide my growing blush. "Uncle Pete," I groan.

"I can't believe you just pimped out my daughter." I can feel my dad glaring at his older brother, who just laughs jovially.

"She's young, beautiful, smart, and she's ambitious. I'm still surprised that she isn't married."

"You just wanna marry her off 'cause you got a pool going. Luke! Keep your elbow tucked in and your lance straight!"

"Guys," I groan from behind my hand, glancing at the fallen man, "I'm right here. And what pool?"

"Uhh…. Oh, look! Jess needs help, I'll be right back!" Uncle Pete rides off to help with a young woman setting the equipment. It looks like she's managing though.

I look at my dad for answers.

He merely shakes his head. "Don't pay attention to him, Tessa. You wanna go for a ride? Rozzy and Wolf haven't seen you yet, have they?"

When I shake my head he continues, "Okay. I think they're with Nikki. Pete!" he shouts.

"What?!"

"Tessa and I are going to see Nikki! See ya' tomorrow?"

"Sure! See you, Tessa!"

"See you, Uncle Pete!" I wave; despite the fact his back is turned. "Later, everyone!"

"Bye, Tessa!" all the men and women dressed metal chorus.

The same stablehand from before opens and closes the gate for us.

As we ride across the field with the sun washing over us and the wind brushing against our skin, Dad and I fall into conversation. We ask questions that are normally asked in situations like this, such as:

"How are things?"

"How is everyone?"

"Anything new?"

We laugh and we smile, enjoying what we couldn't have gotten for the past three months worth of calls. I missed him – and Mom, Uncle Pete, Spirit, Buddy, Wolfgang, hell even Rozzlin. It's not only the people miss; I miss the wide open land, the wind brushing against my skin without having to worry all the smuck in it, the quiet way everyone wakes up, the smell and taste of freshly made pancakes and bacon (my mom makes the best), and the absolute secure feeling I get when I step foot on the dirt path leading up to the house. All my problems melt away to nothing as I walk through those doors; as I talk about them to my mom. No one, or nothing, can harm me so long as I'm here. I have an army here. I have men and women who know how to joust, I practically have warhorses, I have two badass German dogs, and a mother and father how would kill to protect their only child.

_This is my family; and no one is taking me away from them._

Two large, brown and tan barking dogs break me from my thoughts. Grinning, I hoist myself from Spirit and walk up to the two of them.

"Hey, guys!" I leave my hands down for them to sniff and lick. Unlike Buddy, these two are incredibly goofy (stupid if I want to be mean). But I guess that comes with only being two (Rozzy) and three (Wolf) years old; and being a German breed.

Wolfgang, once he remembers who I am, licks and nuzzles my hand. I scratch the side of his face and behind his ear; he quickly rubs against my thigh. Rozzlin (the ever growing bitch); however, has her upper lip twitching at my offered hand. I watch from the corner of my eye, ready to smack her if she decides to bite.

"Rozzlin," my dad growls from next to Batman, "be nice."

She sniffs the palm of my hand, twitching lip slowly stopping.

My body jerks at her and Wolfgang's sudden tense forms. Simultaneously they look towards the tree line surrounding us, low and dangerous growls resonating from the back of their throats. Their ears are perked up straight and the fur along their spine stands on end. They slowly begin to walk towards the unseeing threat.

I get down to their level, holding onto Spirit's reins, and attempt to see what they see. This is New Jersey; there aren't any wolves, bears, or cougars here. Our land is lined with a tall fence to warn strangers that this is private property. We also have eyes everywhere.

_What could they possibly be growling at?_

I let out a loud yelp when they burst off barking and snarling.

"Tessa!" my dad is at my side in an instant. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I groan, "my butt hurts, but I'm fine." He helps me to my feet.

"Did you see anything?" he asks as we walk up to the jumping dogs, horses in tow.

"No, you?"

I shake my head. "Maybe it's a squirrel."

He nods shortly. "Maybe. Rozzy! Wolf! Come!" he commands, voice booming. We stay away from them, lest they turn on us.

When they don't return, my dad's voice raises an octave. "Rozzlin! Wolfgang! COME!"

I flinch at his tone of voice; glad he never spoke to me like that.

Slowly, against their better nature it seems, they come back to him. They look over their shoulders as they do so. My legs slowly walk up to the tree they were attempting to climb and my hand brushes against its rough, clawed bark. Looking up the tall tree I see…

"Nothing," I say, circling around the tree, "there's nothing here."

"Damn dogs are gonna be the death of me. I'll bring these two dumbasses back to the house. Do you mind checking to see if everyone's squared away?"

"Sure. Same as last time?" I mount Spirit, looking at him.

"Yup." He does the same.

"Then, I'll be back before dinner."

"Okay." He clicks his tongue, saying, "Trot."

I do the same, trotting towards the Ring's shed. Smiling at everyone who walks out, I wait for the last person to come out. Seeing that the Ring is already clean from my post, I leave it be.

Once everything is straight and is in its proper order we trot towards the barn. I keep a wary eye on the sky; noting the stars splattered across the sky. I position myself and give the command to go faster. I bounce and rock back and forth, keeping my back straight and mind calm. If I can just undress Spirit and put him away and make sure everything's set, I can run home.

_Then, I'll be safe. Nothing will hurt me when I'm home._

I quickly undress Spirit, put him away, throw a stack of hay in with him, and check where everything is. A soft meow reminds me that the barn cats need to be fed. I take out the dry cat food and fill a large bowl for all the cats in our barn. I shut and lock the massive doors. I run to the house as if monsters are biting at my heels, shadows grabbing for my legs.

I shakily grab the screen door and pull it open. Letting it fall shut I slam the front door shut and lock it. Ignoring the three barking dogs, I catch my breath.

"It's only Tessa, dumb dogs." My dad mutters under his breath, eyeing me. "Okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," I push past the three dogs. "Um, has Mom started dinner yet?"

" _Sì_ ," she chirps, poking through the threshold. "I hope you guys are hungry."

"What are we having?" my stomach suddenly voices how hungry I am; I haven't eaten since breakfast.

"Well, since it's such a special occasion, we're having hot chicken subs with a Tuscan style tomato pasta salad!"

"Yes!" Dad and I cheer, punching the sky. I practically skip into the kitchen, while my dad speedily limps after me. Buddy, Wolfgang, and Rozzlin yip at our sides happily. My dad sits at the head of the table and I instinctively take the one to his left, waiting for the delicious Italian food.

"I'm starving~!" I lick my lips, drooling over the hot sandwich.

"Me, too!" my dad whines like a baby.

"What are you two? Five?"

"Yes," he and I chirp together.

She sighs and shakes her head. "I can't believe what I've gotten myself into."

"Hey," my dad voices, "just remember you chose me."

"And me!" I pipe up, before taking a large bite out of my sandwich.

"And there's my answer." My mom sighs, sitting down and saying grace; ignoring the fact that Dad and I are already eating.

During dinner, it's as if I've never left five years ago. We all talk about what we've been up to and things from the past. Never have I laughed so much; remembering everything I've seen and done when I was younger. Even after dessert and the dishes are put away, when we're in the living room curled up together, we still talk. We talk about random things and serious things – mostly random though. We talk until they start yawning behind their hands.

"Tessa," voices my mom after another long yawn behind her hand, "I love you, I really do. But your father and I need to go to sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow."

"Oh! Sorry, do you guys need me to help?"

"Well…," my dad starts. He grunts though when my mom elbows him in the ribs.

"No, _tesoro_. You're practically on vacation, sleep in. Then, we'll talk." She gives me a playful wink before heading up the steps. "Come on, Abe, time for bed."

"Coming, Rosa. Ya' know there was a time when I LOVED hearing those words." He cackles when my mom grins and while I shutter in disgust. He limps up after her, retiring to their bedroom. Wolfgang and Rozzlin follow up after them.

Sighing, I know there isn't a good TV show at this time of night and I didn't leave to go out and start clubbing.

"Well," I say, getting up, "I guess I'm off to bed, too." I walk up the steps, my heart breaking at the sounds of Buddy's whine. "Look, I'm sorry." I tell him, staring into his big sad brown eyes. "But I can't carry you. I'm strong enough to flip a car over my head, but I can't carry a sixty pound dog up the steps. I…I just can't."

He paces, whimpering and whining, and places his two front paws on the first step.

I quickly turn around and head up to my room, light flooding the halls as I do so.

My ceiling fan's light brightens my room as I step through the threshold, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

"Ugh," I groan, noting the missing click sound of the door latching. Placing both of my hands on the door, I push the door shut. I walk towards my windows and shut and lock them, pulling the curtains too. Although our neighbors are acres away, I feel the need to conceal myself as I dress for bed. There's nothing simple to my nighttime attire; purple short-short pajama bottoms and navy blue short sleeved shirt.

Licking my lips, I turn on the light blue and teal lava lamp. I pull the covers of my bed away, before turning the main source of light off. I all but run to my bed and hide under my covers. True, a lava lamp is a greater source of light. However, it's more of a health hazard; fire and so forth. My stars are numerous across my ceiling – painting it with a very light and subtle green glow. My old lava lamp is only concentrated in one spot in my room – accenting the dark corners of my room.

So I lay down, clutching one of the soft throw pillows with my feather bed pillows under my head and stare at my light source. I watch the teal blobs of lava slowly move inside just waiting for the back wall to light on fire. In the past, when I watched it, it never happened, but it could. Couldn't it?

I watch the colored blobs until my eyelids grow heavy with sleep and I'm forced to shut them. With my eyes closed, I listen for the sounds of crackling fire and the smell of cooking dry wall. All I hear are the sounds of the house settling from time to time, the wind moving in the trees, soft yipping from one of the dogs, and the electricity moving to and from the lamp.

I can feel my limps grow heavy and go slack with sleep. Losing myself in dreams.

_Fire._

_All around me there's fire. Raging across the ground and licking at the starry sky._

_Smoke._

_Black smoke hovers around me. My screams are cut short as coughs rip past my lips._

_Despite the danger I run across the slick, blood soaked earth. I nearly slip as I scream for someone. The growing fire swipes across my legs and torn dress. There are silhouettes in the thick fog; knights fighting monsters._

_Swords meeting flesh._

_Those are the sounds they make. Long metal swords hack off slimy limbs._

_Screams._

_Unnatural screams sound; they can't be the soldiers dressed in dazzling armor. They HAVE to belong to those slimly monsters! There can't be any civilians; good people aren't suppose to die in places like this!_

_Two people._

_There are two people I desperately need to protect me. I don't know their names; I know what they look like though. One is a large man with blonde hair and a hammer. The other is a slender man with black hair and magic. I scream for them, their names somewhere deep in my mind. Locked away in a solid steel cage._

_I run along the open, flame filled halls screaming for them. I round a corner gasping for a cool breath, only to inhale thick smoke, and eyes widen in fear. Slimly…bumpy…monsters turn to me, bulging eyes slowly turn towards me. Blood drips and oozes from their sharp and crooked yellow teeth. A wide man with gold armor stares lifelessly up at them – fear forever painted on his face. A single over revolting large man points at me. He gargles, "Her."_

_I run away._

_A solid, coarse feeling rubs up along my palm._

_I've only felt that a few times before. A sword. I need a sword! Looking down I see only the black air._

_A tickling feeling begins at the ends of my fingers._

_I don't know how, but I manage to throw my arm back and have fire erupt from my hand. Followed by lightening soon after. I still scream for the faceless men as I run, tears streaming down my face. I need those two men! The man with the hammer and the man with magic!_

_Something sudden and sharp lodges itself in my back. I don't stop running though I can feel the blood running down my back and sticking to my gown._

_More monsters – cut and burned – rise from the flames and surround me. I shout something, words I never used before easily fall from my lips. I killed one of the monsters with an ice dagger. I start to shout again, only a slimy and calloused hand clamps over my mouth. Its stench nearly makes me pass out._

_LET ME GO! I want to shout._

_Its hands move to my elbows and pull her away._

_I scream and scream for them – for the two young men._

_"HELP ME! … HELP ME!"my voice rises over the roaring flames._

_Over the high blaze and helpless screams, I hear someone shout a name. It's not my own, except it raises a sense of recognition in me._

_With tearful eyes, and through the black haze and the moving hot air, I see a man with frazzled white bread and a gold patch covering his eye. He's dressed in gold armor splattered with blood and riding a large black horse with eight legs. The man's face is aged with wisdom; although, it's full of rage and a form of protection I've only seen in my mom and dad._

_"DADDY!" I scream. Surely if those two men aren't here, this man, the one I just called 'Daddy,' he will save me. I scream again and again for him, kicking the air._

_I hear a grumble from behind me and the monsters rush forward to the white haired man._

_Past the chokes and sobs, I take one last final breath and bellow, "DADDY!"_

_He fades away and I'm being pulled everywhere. Swirling around and around, kicking and clawing at these monsters. I can feel the magical words leaving me._

_"NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO! NO!" I scream at them, slashing at one monster's face. I elbow the other in the face. I go to run; yet, I don't feel the ground beneath my feet. I'm spinning – head over feet._

_They grab me again. One pulls me to his disgusting chest; his slime pressed against my bloodied back. I kick the other, warding him off._

_"RELEASE ME AT ONCE! NOW! AHHHH!"_

_The monster behind me pulls at my hair, exposing my neck. A cold feeling of dread fills my stomach; they'll kill me now. Slice my neck or rip out my esophagus with those crooked teeth. I will not cry, I will not cry in front of these…monsters._

_The dark monster before reveals a purple vial of sorts, with a black cobweb and a galaxy wrapped around it. I seal my mouth shut, turning my head away from him. They'll poison me._

_Tears begin to leak from my eyes._

_A sharp pain stabs at my left side; I scream and the contents of the vial is poured into my gaping mouth. I try to gag and spit it out, the monster clamps its hand over my mouth and nose. My heart is pounding and panic wraps tighter and tighter around me._

_Don't swallow. Don't swallow. Don't swallow._

_I must; I swallow for the need for air. What does it mean to live with this defeat ever inside me?_

_I stagger away from them, my feet on solid ground and cold rain pouring on me, glaring at them as the follow me. The rain washes away the soot, slime, and blood. I rip the dagger from my side and point it at the four of them. I watch the moving figures._

_"Leave me be…," I breathlessly order._

_They continue to stalk me, smiling wickedly._

_"NO!"_

I gasp awake, bolting upright. A cold breeze washes over me. My hands tremble as I search for the bedside lamp on either side of my bed. Each light fills my room; chasing away the shadows. I look around my room, searching for the source of the cold. My legs tremble as I stumble to a single window. The drapes move with the gentle night breeze.

_I know I shut and locked this window._

I look out to the great field before me, staring at the outline of the giant barn. I watch for anything out of the norm – from the Ring's stands to the rolling hills to the trees around and in our property. Nothing happens, yet my heart and shakes refuse to calm down. I slam the window shut and lock it, making sure the stoppers are out.

I hear a scrapping sound at my door and I jump. My heart jumps into my throat and my stomach goes cold. It slowly opens. I slowly walk to my bed side, jump on it to avoid the monsters under my bed. As carefully as I possibly can with my terrible traumatic shakes, I take out my metal baseball bat.

My breath catches in my throat as my door slowly opens with a creek. I nearly cry with relief when I see Buddy's head poke through. He whimpers and whines from my door, looking around my room.

I crumble to the floor, my bat clanging on the carpeted covered floor, covering a sob. "C'mere, Buddy." I hold out my hands for him.

He eagerly walks in with a slight limp; nevertheless his tail wags high in the air, whining. I wrap my arms around him, kiss him, and nuzzle him. He presses up against me, licking and nuzzling under my jaw.

"Good boy…good boy," I say between kisses. "You'll protect me, won't you?" I lay down, slowly ripping the quilt from my bed with me. I make sure my back and feet are protected from the shadows under my bed. Buddy moves his feet a couple of times next to me, before he lays down in front of me. We both watch the door until we fall asleep.

**~ Asgard ~**

Night has fallen long ago in Asgard. The tall golden palace dulls shines silver in the moons' glow. Large torches dot across the cities as the stars dot the blue velvet sky; albeit not as dazzling. Guards in groups of three patrol the wide, open halls. The loud footsteps echo up and down the corridors. One, young, guard's eyes linger on the Forbidden Room.

_What could possibly be behind that door?_ he wonders. With his two comrades, they march down the halls.

In the highest tower – where the King and Queen and Prince reside – is where the marching stomps are continuous. They're a mere background noise in the ever silence. The King and Prince are in court on the ground floor, a multitude amount of guard to protect them. Frigga resides in her chambers, sleep far from her person. Beneath her make-up are dark circles and her prettily styled blonde hair hides the fact it hasn't been properly taken care of. The past three months she refused any help from her handmaidens.

She's so close. So close to finding her daughter.

Frigga sits elegantly on her swan fainting couch, hand raised to the roaring fire before her. Sweat trickles down from her temple in her hard concentration. She whispers her daughter's name; trying not to cry when she does so. The sounds of the guards' heavy footfalls are nothing to her, the wind against her back and cheek go unnoticed. Frigga stretches her abilities well past their limits and she leaves her hand raised to the flame, saying her little girl's name yet again.

A glimpse of the monsters, from all those years ago, holding her screaming daughter comes to her mind's eye.

A screaming maiden is next.

A silver sterling diamond key with drops of blood is the third.

Big blue eyes full of tears are fourth.

Lastly, a tremble hand holding dark curtains.

In the windows reflection, Frigga sees her frightened daughter. The Queen's hand falls to her mouth and joyous tears fall from her eyes. She falters; the images shatter like a broken glass.

_She's alive!_

Picking up her the skirt of her dress she runs down to the Throne Room; ordering the guards to open the doors for her. Seeing the determined blaze in her eyes, and knowing how short she has been with everyone lately, they comply.

All fall silent at the sight of their Queen entering the room; all but the King and Prince bow at her entrance. Odin stands and walks down the golden steps to meet his wife. He's shocked to see her up and walking at the time of night dread and heartache have normally taken her to bed at this time.

"Frigga," he says, voice booming through the golden room, "what are you doing here?" He didn't mean it in an accusation way, she knows, just merely filled with concern and curiosity.

"She's alive, Odin," she says, grasping his arm. "I've seen her and she's alive!"

"LEAVE US!" the AllFather orders. The guards, warriors, and councilmen leave in a hurry. Their capes and cloaks brush against the floor behind in swishing movements.

Thor, who is full of concern and curiosity stays. He wasn't ordered to leave and he wonders who this maiden is to have such a powerful impact on his mother and father.

"My magic showed me visions – the visions Heimdall spoke of twenty-five years ago! The monsters, her screaming face, and her key we gave her with drops of blood. I saw two others; one of her crying eyes and another of her stricken with fear. I don't know where she is, but she alive, Odin! She's alive!" By now her body is shaking with repressed joy and tears smear her make-up. "We must expand our troops to all the Nine Realms; leave none unmarked!"

"Yes," Odin says, grinning widely and eye shining with joy, "I will. Now. We will find her and she will be with us once more."

"Who?" Thor asks, his curiosity now confusion. He looks back and forth between his stunned parents with a raised brow. "Who will you find and who will be with you once more?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: How was it? What are your guys'/gals' thoughts on Tessa's family and non-glamours life? I find it a nice difference from the Princess' life.**
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:***  
>  Loki- 7  
> Steve- 3**
> 
> **Next chapter's title:  
>  Kissed by a Red Rose**


	9. Kissed by a Red Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something terribly wrong with the blood that pumps through Tessa's veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: It is FINALLY Thanksgiving here in the USA, which means I can FINALLY post this chapter. (And the start of Hanukkah, if I remember correctly. So Happy HANUKKAH!) Gosh, you guys have no idea how much I’ve been waiting to post this. It’s been a couple of weeks, I think. Sadly, I’m not the type of awesome author that makes “holiday specials” for her fanfics. It’ll contain too many spoilers at this point in time. At least I was able to post this one! Hopefully, I’ll be able to post two chapters next month. *crosses fingers* With the new story I downloaded, it might put a fire under to me to write faster. For any of you who are interest in the NORSE MYTHOLOGY of Loki, I suggest that you read _LOKI_ by Mike Vasich. It is crazy good so far.  
>  I would just like to point out that this story isn’t swaying me in anyway. I’ll still allow the votes to come in – until a certain point. However, if Loki doesn’t win it would be to have a better grasp of his myths. If he DOES win, I’ll have…more bits to write about.**
> 
>  
> 
> **TIME FOR THANKS! I’d like to start off by thanking all the story subscribers and bookmarkers that I’ve gained – sixteen and seven, respectively, in the grand total. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten much e-mails stating who you are (reespeaces is one), but I do thank you all from the bottom of my heart. It’s kinda amazing if I think about it. And thank you to lostie and the guests for your kudos. Lastly, but greatly important to me, I’d like to thank our two voters: mutantinthetardis and The_Dark_Faye_Queen. The ***VOTE COUNT*** is now:  
> Loki- 9  
> Steve- 6  
> Getting really close now, guys, to double digits. I still don’t have a set deadline though.**
> 
> **NOW! In this chapter, shit’s about to GO DOWN! The pace is gonna pick up and it’ll hit you right in the feels. At least that’s what my beta reader told me.**

Something smooth and wet eagerly licks my face; a smile breaks across my face. Giggling, I turn away from Buddy's wake-up call. He steps over me and my thick cocoon, his hot breath washes over my face.

"Buddy, stop." I laugh as he kisses my nose again. Rolling onto my back I push him away. "I'm awake, are you happy?" I smile up at him.

My brows scrunch together when I look up at him; the haze that comes with sleep instantly goes away at the sight. His rolled out tongue is abnormally red; no longer a soft pink with a single blotch of black. I slowly sit up, limbs stiff from sleeping on the floor. "Buddy," I say full of concern, "what's wrong?"

He begins licking my face, focusing more so around my nose and mouth. Not all around my face like he used to. "Buddy, stop." I push him away, sitting up straight. His drool oozes down from my upper lip.

"Sit," I order him in a soft, commanding voice.

Slowly, due to his arthritis, he obeys panting happily. There are small drops of blood drip and ooze onto my carpet.

_I'll worry about that later._

"Can I see your mouth? Huh? Can I?" I ask in a baby voice, pulling up one of his golden lips. Doing the same with the other side, I don't see any nicks or cuts on his gums. Checking the roof of his mouth and his tongue, which is now regaining its pink color, show no signs of injury.

"Odd." I say.

Patience now lost, Buddy licks my upper lip.

"GAH! Buddy!" His tongue practically goes up my nose as he licks me. I put my arms up in defense. "Stop!" I shout, pushing him away and standing up. "What the hell, Old Man?" I smear the outside of my wrist under my nose; hating the sensation of something being shoved up there. "So not cool to have that first thing in the morning."

When I take my hand away I notice a flash of red on my wrist.

"What the hell?"

My eyes slowly widen at the large smudge of blood. I quickly tab my fingertips with my other hand, feeling a slick and warm moisture. Pulling my hand away I see more blood. Looking down at the carpeting that I slept on during the night has large amounts of red blotches. Blood begins to seep into my gaping, stuttering mouth. No words can fall past my lips. My nose doesn't hurt and I didn't run into anything last night to have any form of trauma.

Quickly, nearly tripping in my thick cocoon, I scrabble up and run to the bathroom near my room. I tightly cup my hand around my nose and mouth, hoping to avoid leaving a trail. I hear the rapid jiggle of dog tags behind me. I shut and lock the door.

The morning sunlight filters in the room; filling the lightly painted room a golden color.

I leave the lights off; the natural light is more than enough for me to see clearly, as I walk up to the medicine cabinet. There's a large red splotch on the outside of my wrist from when I wiped away the thought-to-be dog slobber and my blood is slowly oozing through my fingers. I've had bloody noses before, but all those times something hit me. Nothing hit me this time!

With trembling fingers I take a large wad of toilet paper and roll it up into a ball. Placing that on my nose with my less bloodied hand, I walk to the bathroom closet.

"Shhh! Buddy!" I say harshly to the scratching and whining dog behind the door.

Ignoring all the cleaning supplies and towels and washcloths, my hand makes a bee-line for the tampons secured on the second highest shelf. Using one hand to hold the thin sanitary napkin, I use my mouth to rip it open from its packaging.

For all those times I've seen people get random bloody noses, they stick something up their bleeding nostrils. One time, I saw a guy with tampons shoved up his nose. (Ironically, he was on the football team and none of his teammates laughed; they just high-fived him for some odd reason.) It seemed to work for him and it stuck with me.

I carefully slide the tampon on my nose – tossing the soiled toilet paper in the waste bin – and do the same for the other side. I move my jaw and scrunch up my nose in an attempt to find a way to make it more comfortable. It only helps a little bit.

"Tessa," I jump at the sound of my mom's voice on the other side of the door.

"Yeah?" I begin to wash my hands, mouth, and carefully around my nose. All the while eyeing the closed door.

"Is everything okay? Buddy's up here pacing and whining – he woke us up and is getting Rozzlin and Wolfgang riled up, too."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

_Please don't go in my room._

"Maybe he just needs to go out?" I suggest; hoping that she'll take my word for it.

I'm met with a lapse of silence. I can picture her on the other side of the door with her brows knitted together, a small frown on her lips in concern and annoyance, her arms crossed over her chest, and one finger rubbing along her upper lip. Last time I was here, Buddy never walked up the steps; there are too many even with the landing. Even when he had to go outside, he'd whine and bark downstairs.

"Alright," she finally says.

I let out a deep sigh, relaxing when I hear her walking away. A multitude of footsteps follow her. I hear my dad grumbling and grunting as he walks down the steps.

When I hear that both of my parents are downstairs, I grab a dozen washcloths and a bottle of stain removal. I run back to my room – ignoring the strings bouncing off my upper lip. I shut and lock my bedroom door behind me and start to clean the bloody mess I created during my sleep.

My arms slowly grow tired and sore – my entire right arm more so – as I progress. The rug burns across my fingers sometimes, if I haven't sprayed enough or too soon. The deep red stains slowly turn a light shade of pink until they're gone completely.

I sit back nearly panting from the exertion, zero breaks, and adrenaline rush can do a real number on a girl. Besides the wet stains, no one would ever know there was blood here.

After turning off my lava lamp, I walk back to the bathroom with quick elf-like steps (I'm thankful for the role I played not too long ago). I wash away the blood stains on the washcloths – they come out much easier than those on my carpet – and toss them into the hamper. Next, I slide the tampons out of my nose. I groan and scrunch my nose up; grateful for the empty feeling. Tilting my head back, I look up my nostrils to see any signs of blood oozing out. I don't see any; I careful clean the small amounts of blood around my nostrils.

"Thank God." I sigh, and walk down the steps. Breathing a lot easier now; knowing that everything's going to be okay.

Rozzlin barks at me as I walk into the kitchen, jabbing me with her muzzle, and rumbling in the back of her throat. I ignore her.

Wolfgang's tail swishes back and forth and he whimpers happily; I pat his head.

Buddy pushes Rozzy out of his way to nuzzle against me; I scratch the side of his face.

"It smells good in here," I say, licking my lips.

" _Grazie_. There are still some pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon that are still hot if you're hungry." She points to the several paper plates stacked with food. "Your dad already ate and rested. He's out working now; you know him." She smiles with a twinkle in her eye.

I smile in return, knowing that he loves working with the animals. Once it reaches two o'clock, after he ate lunch and rested again, he'll begin teaching people how to joust. It's unheard of to want to learn how to joust; although, many women (and some men) would highly disagree. I've seen strong individuals dressed to the nines in protective steel armor on horseback and it brings out a certain…primal, medieval…feeling in some people. Myself included.

"What type of pancakes are they?" I lift the paper towel covering them, nearly moaning at the smell and sight at the delectable beauties.

"Nutty buckwheat buttermilk," she rattles off easily.

I lick my lips, humming at the knowledge. Eagerly, I take out a ceramic plate and stack four medium to large pancakes on it. This is quickly followed by three scrambled eggs and six slices of crispy bacon. I douse my flapjacks in maple syrup, which slowly oozes onto my eggs and bacon. My stomach growls with impatience.

"It's good to see you're eating, _tesoro_."

"I've always ate, Mom. Just not as much as when I'm working." I wedge off a piece of soft, fluffy pancake, before stuffing it into my mouth. "Hmmm…." Each bite I take my stomach fills and the thought of my bloody nose forgotten.

"Would you like some orange juice?"

I can only nod eagerly.

I down the stack of pancakes with a gulp of the tangy juice and lick my lips to ease off any of the remnants of syrup.

"How did you sleep last night," my mom asks, sitting in her usual spot with a mug of coffee between her hands.

"Okay, I guess," I lie easily with a shrug of my shoulders, "it felt a lil' weird to be sleeping in my old bed again. In a good way though. How was Buddy getting down the steps?"

"Your father carried him down. Honestly, how did that old man get up all those steps?"

"Dad or Buddy?" I grin at my sarcastic question.

Mom gives me the classic "don't be such a smartass" expression; looking at me with raised brows, eyes looking up through me, and lips set in a stern line.

I shrug, grin easing up a little bit.

"I don't know how he got up those steps, Mom. All I know is that he was in my room when I woke up to go to the bathroom this morning."

"He must've heard something."

I lean back into my chair, nibbling on a slice of bacon. "I guess." I hate lying to her (or anyone that's immediate relations with me), it's just better if I do so that I can avoid any unnecessary complications. I have to tell myself that now, until I know for sure what's going on with me.

I glance down at Buddy's happy, yet foggy, brown eyes and panting face. Any trace that blood coated his tongue is now gone.

_Thank God for that._

"Did you have fun yesterday?" my mom asks.

"Yeah, little sore from riding so much. Other than that, I'm good. Oh, and Uncle Pete pimped me out again."

She shakes her head and sighs to herself, "What are we going to do with that man?"

"What are you going to do today?" she asks.

"Ride some more; I've been deprived of it for so long. Plus, Spirit needs it, too. You should've seen him yesterday, Mom, he loved it! He was like a colt again."

"I'll bet!" she laughs. "He rarely tolerates other people riding him. You're his favorite."

I dramatically flip my hair over my shoulder. "I better be; I've raised him since he was a colt." _And put up with him – and the other horses – ever since. Even the most unfriendly, most skittish seem to relax when they see me._

I have no idea as to why that is true – why I give them a peace of mind – it simple just is. Our two most troublesome mares, Star and Sun, who are sisters, don't fight when I'm with them. I only wish this form of peace would affect Rozzy.

After breakfast, my mom and I spend the next hour talking as we did last night. Saying what we couldn't say in front of my dad. At some point in our discussion, Wolfgang and Rozzlin went out through their doggie door and into the field to walk around the perimeter of our yard.

Leaning against the back of the chair I thank my mom for putting my dishes away.

"No problem, _tesoro_."

"Are you okay if I go make my bed and out to meet with Dad?" I slowly start to stand from my seat. Pushing it back in just as slowly when I'm up.

"Of course! It's only your second day; have fun and be careful."

" _Grazie_!" I chirp, kiss her cheek, and prance upstairs. Buddy follows me until I'm high up on the stairs.

I purposely place my bare feet on the spots where the blood was. Thankfully, they're only slightly damp still. They should be dry within the next hour or so.

Once my bed is made and everything is back where it should be, I dress for the day. I dress similarly to yesterday; a light blue tank, dark washed boot-cut jeans, and my brown leather belt. Before going out of my room, I check myself in my vanity mirror for any since of blood dripping out of my nose. To reassure myself, my fingers brush along the underside of it.

I give myself a short nod. "Good," I tell myself when I see the lack of blood.

After pulling on my socks and putting my cell in my back pocket, I walk down the stairs and to the front door. "I'm heading out to the field!" I shout, tugging on my cowboy boots and flopping on my cowboy hat.

"Alright," my mom shouts, "lunch will be ready around one or one-thirty."

"'Kay!"

The majority of the morning is spent working on the farm; feeding the animals, letting them out to graze, and giving them fresh water. As the chickens cluck their way out, I carefully take the white or brown eggs from their nests, at least those who are not fertile. I bring the fresh eggs back to the house; avoid the roosters and the sassy turkey.

Back at the field, I pat the backsides of pigs as I give them their slop. I avoid bending over; knowing that Joe the goat, will ram into me if I do. I'd rather not be covered in mud and feces (again). I smile and nod at all the passing stablehands; noting that they're taking care of the cows and bull. With so much life, on the farm part its self, it's amazing that my parents can keep so many of the animals. In the past we had to give up some – sure – but not all of them. I'm proud to say that we'll never lose our horses, dogs, barn cats, and sheep. Joe the goat and our birds I could deal without.

Sitting on top of Spirit and feeling the hard leather and moving muscles under me, the pain from strenuous activity yesterday is gone. The shadow from my cowboy hat covers my eyes and I look up at the ever gray sky without having to worry so much.

"You think the sky will ever be blue again, boy?"

My only response is a snort.

"Thought so. C'mon, let's ride for a while before meeting up with Dad and Uncle Pete." I gently kick his sides and we're off trotting deep into the farm and around the perimeter. The sounds of this living life slowly fade away until I'm only aware of Spirit and myself. The creeks of leather under my seat, his soft snorts, and my soft breaths are all I hear. Every now and then I'm ripped away from my thoughts when I hear something out of the ordinary. Even Spirit stops short when he hears the sudden snap of a twig. I pat his wide neck in reassurance.

"Tessa!"

Turning my head, I see Uncle Pete riding towards me waving happily.

"Hey!" I wave back, pulling back on the reins to ease Spirit to a stop.

Uncle Pete rides Bran behind and around spirit to stand beside me. "You up to anything?"

"Nah, we're just riding around. Until I get bored and wanna see the victims jousting."

We resume riding near the forest line; the sounds of the world returning as we talk and catch up. Uncle Pete, who's a large man with a teddy bear arms and a matching bear-like hug, says since he started riding again his doctor says his heart has been doing much better. He lost a noticeable amount of weight, too, since I last saw him.

"All of this has been great for me, Tess. I can't even begin to tell you how great I feel."

I give him a broad smile. "That's great! You look very happy."

"I feel happy." He states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, smiling himself.

Bran suddenly stops, snorting and stomping his feet. Spirit, who's standing next to him, stops as well; becoming uneasy himself.

"Bran?" Uncle Pete leans forward, trying to look at his horse. "You okay, boy?"

I glance at Bran's large extra wide eyes, fear evident in his eyes, and tall ears twisting and turning. My gaze flickers to Spirit as my hands ghost up to his black mane. I grip the locks tightly and press my thighs more inward to the saddle.

"Pete," I begin, a tone of warning in my voice, "you might wanna hold on. Something's wrong."

Just as those words leave my mouth, Spirit rears up kicking the air and neighing in pain. I let out a scream from the unexpectedness of it all and lean forward once he gallops away. A course of people yell my name as he speeds away into the forest surrounding my home. I yell and scream every command that comes to mind. I do everything and anything that'll make him stop: sitting up and leaning back, harshly pulling on his mane now that the reins are uselessly hanging, and desperately screaming at him in a panic.

I duck and lean away from the low branches that we pass. I cry out when I'm whacked across the face by a thin, leafed branch.

"Spirit!" I scream, feeling no pain on my face, as I look down at him. "WOAH!"

_Look up._ A voice whispers in my head.

Just as I lift my head I see a low branch and immediately afterwards I'm flat on my back groaning in pain after a sickening _crack_ resonates in the air. I roll away from the tree – gagging and coughing.

"SPIRIT!" I cry; feeling betrayed that he was spooked in such a way and failed to listen to my commands to stop. Blood is quickly rushing from my nose and my collar bone throbs. I slowly sit up, covering my gushing nose. With one hand propping myself I weakly call for my horse. My only answer is a deafening silence.

Very carefully, I stand on wobbly legs and walk up to the tree that tore me from my horse. It's a young tree – strong, too. The branch is as thick as a telephone post. It lays off the tree; broken and snapped.

_I broke it._

I gingerly brush the tips of my fingers across my collar bone; strands of Spirit's black mane kisses my skin. It's not broken, but there are the sharp edges of splinters poking out of my skin. Glancing down I don't see any signs of bruising. I look up at the broken branch again. The half that is still attached to the tree is a weapon you'd see in movies; sharp, jagged, and right for piercing through a soft body. My fingertips trace along an edge as I gaze at the broken branch.

_How could I have done this?_ I wonder, licking my upper lip as the blood seeps into my mouth. Taking my hand away tree branch I wipe my wrist under my nose. A large smudge of blood smears across my wrist.

_That branch was nowhere near my nose and I landed on my back._

A series of coughs ripple through me; I instinctively rush to cover my mouth. The intensity of them has me doubling over and falling to my knees.

"Tessa!" Thundering hooves and creaking metal meet my ears.

_Dad…._

My dad swings himself off of Batman is gently grasping my shoulders. "Let me see." He carefully takes my hands away from my face. His eyes widen and his face becomes ashen white.

"Christ…." breathes one of the jouster students.

"Sp…irit!" I gag. I cover my mouth as I begin coughing again, while swinging my arm in the direction Spirit went off to.

"Pete, boys, you go off and find him," my dad begins, slowly rising both of us to our feet, "I'm taking my daughter back to the house." He fluidly lifts me up and sets me on Batman's saddle. He shortly comes on behind me.

"Bring him back quickly," he adds before trotting us both back to the house.

"Yes, sir!" I can just see Uncle Pete half-mock, half-serious saluting his little brother.

During the gentle ride home, my coughing slowly stopped. However, my nose still gushes out blood with each heartbeat. It doesn't throb – thankfully – as I hold it and lean my head back on my dad's shoulder. We don't talk, him and I, for there's nothing to say at the moment. I'm too focused on making the bleeding stop, and he's too focused on getting me back home.

"Rosa!" my dad yells, pushing past a worried Buddy, once we reach the house.

She walks out of the study. Instantly her eyes widen and she drops the folders she was holding. " _Oh mio Dio_." She states softly. She practically leaves a thin trail of fire behind her and jumps over our golden dog to get to me. She ushers me into the downstairs bathroom and sits me on the closed toilet seat. As she's brushing my long bangs from my face, she asks what happened. After, she has me hold a wad of toilet paper to my tripping nose.

"Spirit got spooked." I croak, throat raw from so much couching and screaming.

Annoyed, she ties my hair back in a low ponytail and pins back my bangs with bobby pins. "Any idea by what? How was he acting before he got spooked?"

"No. We were just riding with Uncle Pete and Bran, before that it was just us and he was acting fine. Just before he got spooked, Bran stopped dead. I think he heard something. Spirit stopped, too, but reared and ran soon after."

Very carefully she takes my hand away from my nose, and gingerly tabs at the drying smudge.

My dad, who's talking to Uncle Pete via cell phone, stands at the threshold of the bathroom. He looks at us, eyes ablaze. "They found him, reins caught in a branch. He's okay, they say, still a lil' spooked. But, there's a welt on his croup." A line forms between his brows. "Was there anything there that you can think of? Horse flies? Hornets?"

He isn't blaming me, I know. He simply wants to know what – or who – attempted to hurt his horse. No matter how much I claim Spirit as mine, he was born here, lives here, and is a finical responsible to my father. He's my dad's horse.

"No, none. Ow!" I flinch when my mom's arm brushes against the splinters.

"Here, clean up. I'll be right back to get those out." She walks out of the bathroom after gesturing to my collar bone, to the guest room no doubt.

My dad reluctantly leaves, claiming that he's going to the barn to wait for Uncle Pete and the boys' return. Shortly after that, my mom comes back with a pair of tweezers and a thin sewing needle – our guest room also has a sewing machine in it. I inwardly groan at the sight of the needle. It's one of the best ways to get small splinters out, but I don't like needles.

"How did you get splinters and a bloody nose?" she asks hands nimble at their work.

"I was too busy yelling at Spirit to stop; I didn't see the low branch before it was too late. It tore me off of him and I landed face first."

"Ouch!" she visibly flinches at my saying.

I had to lie (again) to her, for I don't even understand how I randomly got another bloody nose. I don't tell her how I broke that young tree's limb without a shattered collarbone.

My upper chest and collarbone are both soon free of those damned splinters and my nose has stopped bleeding. Before everyone leaves and the sky darkens, I visit Spirit; just to make sure he's okay. I trust my dad and Uncle Pete; I just need to see for myself.

"Hey, boy," I greet him softly, petting his long muzzle through the cage door, with a gentle smile. "You doin' okay now? No more bad things scaring you?"

He snorts, stepping closer and nuzzling my hand.

"I'll take that as a yes. You know you're safe here, yeah? No more bad things are gonna scare you."

I stand there and talk to him; letting him know that it wasn't his fault and that everything's alright. Some of the boys from the search come up to me and ask if I'm okay. I tell them that I'm alright and not to worry. I place a kiss on the tips of my fingers and press them to Spirit's muzzle as Scruffy Steve enters to check on everything.

When I fall asleep, my night is spent in blissful silence. I don't have any nightmares about a golden kingdom on fire painted red, about monsters taking me away and trying to kill me, my nose doesn't randomly bleed when I wake up, my window doesn't open and the shadows don't play tricks on me, and my room didn't catch on fire due to the lava lamp. It was all so peaceful – as if nothing weird is happening. Coming home can do that for me; I'm here and nothing hurts me.

Not even a speeding car or a one-eyed man.

The rest of my week is spent just like that night: calm, peaceful, normal. When I go out with Spirit I stay clear away from our wood's edge and my dad or Uncle Pete are always with me. Rozzlin and Wolfgang settled down once they remembered me, and if I stayed in with my mom Buddy hardly ever left me.

An obnoxious ring abruptly wakes me up from my sleepless slumber. My eyes open in a snap; leaving behind that heavy feeling on my eyelids. Reaching up to my nightstand, I absentmindedly push things away – ignoring the dull thunks they make.

_I know that ringtone._

"Hello?" I croak; voice matching my unheard thoughts.

"Tessa," it's Madi, "your invite arrived two days ago and you're not back. Today's your last day, right?"

_How is it that she can sound so nervous over something as stupid as a party? Her boss doesn't even know we know each other._

Why are my thoughts so bitchy when I wake up?

"Yes…." I groan hearing and talking I'm slowly lifted from my sleepy haze. "I'll be back by tonight. When's the party?" I kick off my covers with my cell phone plastered to my ear. No use going back to sleep now.

"Tomorrow."

I groan with a mix of realization and ache as I sit up; my body still heavy with sleep. "Don't worry, I have an emergency gown. Stark's parties aren't all that special where I have to buy a new gown and shoes. I'm already planning how I should do my hair and make-up." I walk up to my vanity, checking for any signs of blood on my upper lip. "Any idea who else is going – besides you and me?"

"It's Tony Stark."

"Good point," I put the phone on speaker and go to make my bed, "there'll be a shit load of people we don't know."

"Yup."

There's a brief pause.

Madi adds, "So you'll be home tonight?"

"Yup."

"Cool, I'll see you then."

"See you."

The _click_ sounds as she hangs up.

There's a cloud on top of my head for the rest of the day; I don't want to go back yet. I just want to stay here and on the farm for the rest of my days. Even, after awhile, I'd want to go back to being "Princess Tessa." I like the positive image I give off to all young women.

_I made a promise five years ago; I'm not going to stop acting because of some freak accident._

…

I see large, dazzling lights as I pose for the cameramen. I stand confidently before them in my deep crimson Zuhair Murad gown, ignoring their shouts about the car accident and my week absence. I smile smugly at them, lips painted in light natural pink color; they won't get anything from me.

My signature necklace lays comfortably cold against my near-bare sternum; the collar of my gown is a deep-V, stopping a few inches above my navel. I turn around, pulling my curled locks over one shoulder, to show them the dramatic back. I turn to face them once they've gotten plenty of shots, throwing my hair onto my back again. There are minute, multiple bits of deep crimson glitters that sparkle down my torso in the bursts of light. Of course it isn't as such all throughout; it fades as it progresses downward and strands of it non-glittered.

I hold my silver, metallic Aldo Doroda clutch to my side. The thin silver bangles wrapped around my wrist hang loosely. Sadly, my high heeled silver Guess Gabinoly shoes hide under the long skirt of my dress.

I have done my eyes in sinister perfection for the cat-eyed looked; smoldering at those behind the camera. I silently dare them to come up to me and talk about the car accident.

Blowing a mock kiss farewell to them I make my way up the (obnoxiously Stark) tower. Despite the warm colors of the grand entrance and the chandeliers hanging above, the metallic of it all leaves me feeling cold. All of this makes me wonder what the rest of the tower looks like.

I smile kindly at all of those I don't know – important people of this and that. Misters and Misses of certain things and actions.

"Princess!"

I whirl around when I hear the familiar voice, smiling widely.

"Sherlock!" I nearly squeal. (5)

We meet each other half-way and lightly hug each other. Despite all the bull I say about Tony, we have a love-hate relationship.

_We love to hate each other._ We sometimes say to the paparazzi, arms wrapped around the other. Our personalities are too similar, I think. Plus, he's too old and has a scruffy face.

We pull away from one another, giving the other small smiles.

"Come on in, enjoy the party!" he boasts, leading me deeper and deeper into the party atmosphere. The smiles and music are starting to take their toll on me; all I want to do is dance with people I'll forget in the morning. I see brief glimpses of Madi's pink streak in the crowd.

We pass the table that has an array of food and drink; we make way towards the bar. Each of us ordering a glass of champagne.

"Don't suppose you're gonna tell me what you did during your week absence."

"You're always such a charmer, Sherlock. Wine, dine, and straight to the point." I smirk over the rim of the glass. "Ya' know, I never got to tell you, this building really is you."

"That's what I keep telling people! Finally, someone who gets me and my baby."

"Your baby?" voices a female emerging from the crowd.

"Shit," he mutters into his glass, taking a long sip.

"Hi, Miss Potts." I look down, still unable to look at her in the eye. I always knew those two would date; she's perfect for him and my first meeting with her was something I'd rather forget. (Tugging on my clothes and prancing out to the front door to meet the taxi cab.) We met in brief moments in the past but nothing too serious where we stopped and talked.

"Fine," Tony groans, "our baby."

"Do I have more than twelve, fifteen percent on our baby?"

"Sure! You'll get… twenty…?" he says the number very slowly, completely unsure if that's the right number. Judging by Pepper's face it's not.

"I'm gonna take a shot in the dark here," I begin after a sip of the bubbly drink, "it's just over a little bit of fifty percent."

"Just a little bit," Pepper agrees. There's a glint in her eyes and a sarcastic tone in her voice – matching mine.

"Hey," he barks, looking back and forth between us, "you guys CANNOT be ganging up on me! You both love me too much."

I raise my brow at that.

"And why not?" Pepper challenges him.

"It's only a bit of fun, Tony, no need to cry." I smirk, winking at them.

"I'm not gonna cry." He waves his hand, dismissing the thought of tears. "I can just feel the love from you two."

"You're only getting twenty percent, Tony."

"Oooh," I mockingly flinch at Pepper's words, "that must of hurt."

"Please," she walks up to him and links their arms together. I catch a fleeting glimpse of menace in her eyes and smile. "He's going to be paying for that, again, soon. And I won't be so subtle."

Pursing my lips together I look into the slim glass of golden liquid; wishing I could swim in it and leave these two alone. Albeit I can stand Tony and Pepper, our first meeting is one I'd just like to forget and never relive and this friendly, flirty exchange between them is making things awkward for me.

"Well," I put on a smile, turning my attention back to them, "Tony, thank you for inviting me. Pepper, it was nice meeting you again. I'll be around. Cheers." I lift my glass and make a quick getaway; weaving through the dancing bodies.

…

I have no idea what to make of this party; it can't be business and it's not his birthday (that'll be in a different country I'm sure). I guess he's only throwing it because he can. I've only caught glances of Tony, Pepper, and Madi throughout the night. I think—hope my eyes are playing tricks on me; I might be seeing Steve on the other side of crowd. He stays in one place for a while, but when someone crosses my line of vision he disappears.

Maybe my alcohol intake is dwindling. I've only had three glasses.

"Excuse me, Miss Maberry."

"Hum?" I look to my right, blinking up at an average heighted man with short blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. My eyes look this strange man up and down, trailing up the large arms under the suit's jacket.

"Can I help you?" I ask.

"I was just wondering if I may dance with you."

I'm unable to resist a dance – even if it's with someone I don't know. With a pearly white smile, I say, "Sure."

I place my near empty glass on a passing server. The man with large arms offers me his hand, smiling kindly. My smile instinctively widens in return and I gracefully place my hand in his. As we walk towards the near vacant dance floor, he spins me. My long skirt twirls with me wrapping around my legs and falling back into place when we stop. When he spins me into his chest I can't help but laugh. There's something about that one action that makes me feel…soft. Delicate like the princesses I play in movies.

"It's an honor to be dancing with you, Miss Maberry." He grins, eyes twinkle joyously.

"Thank you," I nod graciously. "May I know your name, since you seem to know mine?"

"Charles Chamberlain."

"That's a lovely name." He slowly spins me around, so that I may face him, his hands gently lands on my hip once I'm back in his arms. "What brings you to Tony's little…," I try to think of the correct word, "shindig?"

He lets out a chortle, shaking his head. "'Shindig?' What type of term is that?"

"My own, too many people are using the word "party." I wanted to be different."

"Different can be a dangerous thing, Miss Maberry." He twinkling blue eyes darken.

"Or it could be the greatest thing this world has ever seen, Mr. Chamberlain. Now," I press myself closer to him, lips tugging up into a smug smile, "mind telling me what you're doing here? I'm, oh so, curious, Mr. Chamberlain." A seductress role comes to life; one of the four ways to confuse men so that they can't truly categories me.

"I was invited. Tony Stark and I go way back – we're co-workers. You?"

"Hm," _I'll have to ask Madi about this man._ "Same; I was invited. And Iron Man is my FAVORITE Avenger. He knows it, too." I look up at him through my lashes. I'm only half lying in a way; I was invited, but I don't have a real favorite Avenger.

"He is? You don't like any of the others?" His hand begins to fall.

I lift his hand so that it's back on my lower back. "Well, Captain America has a nice ass if I remember correctly, the woman…Black Widow has a nice rack, at least from what I've seen on the news' reports, and I like Thor's cape."

For a brief fleeting moment, I swear a pout comes to Charles' lips. It's gone when I a cough tickles the back of my throat; it doesn't leave past my lips.

"If you don't mind me asking, Miss Maberry, how are you feeling? I heard what happened last week and you've been away for that week."

I lick my glossed lips, inwardly deflating and image faltering. Damn.

"I don't know how THAT happened," I glare up at him; my bright blue eyes are nearly reflective in his slightly darker ones, "but I needed to get away for a while. I knew that if I didn't come Tony would annoy the hell out of me."

"You and Mr. Stark are close?"

"We have a love-hate relationship – some days we can stand each other, others we can't. Our personalities are too similar for us to stay in close proximities with each other. Plus, he's a lil' too old for me I think."

I clear another tickle in the back of my throat and discretely sniffle. _I can't be getting sick, there's no possible way. I don't get sick._

Charles spins me; his large arms wrapping around my torso. Head faintly rolling and vision spinning, for a moment everything changes. Every woman is wearing full skirts and their hair twisted up in complex hairdos and every man is wearing suit of silver or gold armor. There is one young man who stands out; a single swirling red cape and dashing silver and navy blue.

In the blink of an eye, everything is back to normal. Modernized.

"Are you alright, Miss Maberry? You're looking a little flushed."

"I'm fine;" I lie, "that spin just threw me for a loop. Excuse me." I raise his arms, detaching myself from him. I keep my back straight and shoulders back. Unfortunately, I can feel my legs trembling.

I ask very few servers where the bathroom is; they all point me towards it.

Once I reach the upper floor's restroom, I shut and lock the door – falling into a coughing wreck. The tickle rises higher and higher until I race to the toilet. Through my nearly sealed shut eyes and my hair I see red spatter decorating the white porcelain. I feel the familiar thick liquid oozing out of my nose as I roughly and continuously gag.

_What the hell?_

There's a knock on the door. "Miss Maberry," Charles calls, "are you alright?"

"Fine," I gag, "just lil' too much to drink."

"Alright."

I don't know how long I'm spewing blood from my mouth and nose, but by the time I'm done I feel insanely dizzy. I get up on quivering legs and clumsily stumble to the large mirror. I'm too weak to scream at the sight I see: pale, sweaty, sickly skin; smudged make-up; hair disheveled; and dark crimson red blood from my nose to my chin. I have to take deep breathes to calm my queasy, twisting stomach.

I have to get out.

_Madi…._ She'll get me out of here.

It feels like each of my fingers, each of my joints, are being weighed down by lead as I turn the knob to open and unlock it. I stumble and fall into the hallway, coughing. I groan as I roll on my back, clutching my stomach.

Someone with rough fingers turns my face to the left. My eyes are too full of tears to see who it is clearly, but I see two outlines of people. One has shoulder length red hair and a tight white dress, and the other with large arms and short blonde hair.

"This won't hurt," says the woman. There's a soft, cottony fabric rubbing against my cheek and another goes deep in my mouth. Blood spews out of my mouth.

"Well, that's interesting." The woman purrs. "Director,…Maberry's condition…gotten…worse. More…she was a week ago….Your orders?"

I roll away from them, muttering, "Fuck off." Most of their words sound jumbled and lost. I know that they're talking about me though through the sea of mixed up words.

"Miss Maberry, we're here to help you."

I glare at the now familiar voice – Charles. "Fuck you, too." I growl, staggering to get up. My knees buckling and my ankles in desperately need to be messaged.

"Tessa,…take you back. You're sick,…understand?" Charles grabs my arm, steadying me.

I rip my arm away; repelled by his touch. "Don't touch me!" my voice booms down the hall. My body teeters backwards until I'm caught by something warm.

"Tessa?"

_I know that voice._

I tilt my head backwards; resting it between two large pectoral muscles. Through my glossy, dazed eyes, I see the familiar styled hair. "Rogers…?"

"My God," he tucks his arm under my legs and lifts me up as if I weigh nothing.

"Captain, she needs…back….orders."

"She needs…hospital."

"NO!" I scream, kicking and pushing away from Steve.

Very carefully he sets me down. I stagger away from him; planting myself against a wall. I glare at the three blurry figures, ignoring the constant less drippage of blood from my nose. "No hospital," I rasp. "Just…get Madi." I begin to slide down the wall.

Charles quickly leaves the scene – without me describing what she looks like. The woman kneels in front me, blotting the blood away.

"Just cleaning…up." She tells me softly.

"…the hell?" I hear the distinct voice of Tony Stark. "What's going on? What's wrong…?"

"We don't know, Stark. We're…figure…out. Been…like this…a week."

"A week?!"

"Yes," says the woman standing up, "…watching her since…attack…York….Getting worse as you can see."

"No, hospital." I groan, crawling away from the woman. My vision spins when Steve helps me up.

"Why?" Tony keeps his distance, skepticism in his voice.

"Hate hospitals." Of course there's more reason than that – and more than because of my hatred of needles – but do they really need to know that now?

"Fair enough." He shrugs one shoulder; his face not matching his action. Through the blurriness and lit hall, dare I say he looks…concerned? No, not possible.

"TESSA!" Madi cries, the rustling of her midnight blue gown moves rapidly. "Oh my gosh, what happened?" she gingerly takes my face in her hands. The haze covering my eyes from before slowly lifts and her bright neon streak stands out more and more.

"Sick," I mutter, staggering towards her and grip her tiny shoulders. "Can we go home?"

"Sure, the man told me to bring the car around. It's parked and running – the man's guarding it." She wraps my arm around her shoulders and her hand goes around my hips. With one step, my legs give out and I'm yelping in shock.

"Tessa," I turn to look back a Steve, concern etched across his face. "Do you need help getting to your car?"

No matter how hard I try, the spotlight has always found its way to me. Sometimes I don't mind; it has shown that I can get myself out of many situations. That I don't need help or that I ask for it. However, with how weak I feel and what only just happened I know (no matter how much I hate to admit it) I need his help.

"Yes," I whisper, hating myself for this, "can you please help me?"

"Of course." Unlike last time, he doesn't simply scoop me up. Very slowly and steady, with his arm tucked under my knees and the other under my shoulder blades, he lifts me up.

"Natasha cleaned you up," he whispers in my ear as we walk towards the front entrance. "No one will know what happened. Don't worry."

I bury my face in the crook of his neck for good measure.

_He smells like apple pie._ My hair hides my weak grin.

The atmosphere changes once we cut through the grand entrance; heavy and dark. There are mummers floating in the air, Steve walks with a purpose. He holds me tightly to his person.

"No questions!" Tony suddenly barks.

Steve's breath washes across my ear and neck as he softly whispers, "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital. You looked really bad." His grip on me tightens the slightest bit; I can only imagine what I looked to other people. I was scared by what I saw. Honestly though, what could be wrong with me? I'm as healthy as anyone my age can be. I don't drink much, I'm nowhere near smokers, I exercise regularly, and I eat pretty healthily. Although…I know nothing of my family's history.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm sure." I whisper back.

I can hear the distinct sound of cell phones taking pictures and random people asking questions; ignoring Tony's earlier command.

I'm placed in the front seat and I'm buckled up.

"Just keep looking forward; you won't get motion sickness that way." Steve tells me, smiling charmingly.

"I still hate you, Rogers." I glare up at him through my mascara coated lashes.

He nods in understanding. "I know and I'm still sorry."

There's a clap on something strong, yet hollow sounding. "I know this is a sensitive moment for you two lovebirds," Tony mutters, looking at both Steve and I, "but people are taking pictures and videos with their cell phones like the kids do nowadays. So I suggest that you either get in, Grandpa Rogers, or let Princess drive off to her ivory palace."

"It's polished marble actually," I say just before a clap of thunder booms across the sky.

There's a sharp intake of breath from Madi, who's in the driver seat. I turn my head to look at her; hoping we won't die during the car ride.

"Drive safely, ladies."

"Thanks, we will." Madi says eagerly, rolling away as we say our final goodbyes.

"See you tomorrow, Mad Bad." Tony says. (6)

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Stark."

_Well there goes the whole thing of Madi not knowing me._

…

The ride home is silent and rushed. As we pull up our short driveway small, rapid raindrops hit the front window. Without waiting for Madi, I stumble out of the car – staggering and clutching my recovered clutch. My longtime friend rushes to my side and slings my arm around her shoulders.

"Really," she grunts, walking the best she can to the front door in her heels, "you can't wait five seconds?"

"You got out just as fast as me."

She unlocks the door and gently places me on the sofa; I instantly curl up on my side, sinking deeper and deeper into the plush pillows. The set alarm bleeps off when Madi puts in the house code.

Her feet gently patter across the wooden floor. She slips my sore feet out of my shoes and cautiously sits me up.

"C'mon," she says, face white and body jumpy with the now raging storm outside, "let's get you to bed."

I don't fight with her, knees buckling and body shaking violently. The walk is short thankfully and I all but collapse into my bed. I'm now glad that I've carried Madi to bed several days ago; she gets to take care of me now. She gently brushes my hair until it loses the styled curls, wipes away the make-up on my face with a warm washcloth and make-up remover, and she stripes me out of my dress and dresses me in my pajamas. We do respect each other's boundaries and don't do anything of this sort, sometimes you gotta take one for the team.

"Thank you, Madi." I grumble, curling up under the covers.

"No problem," she places a plastic trash bin by my bedside. "If I get sick though, it's on your head."

My chuckle sounds like I'm wheezing. "I don't think you'll get sick with this…whatever it is. Maybe, it's just a yearly thing now; since I've never gotten sick."

"Are you sure you don't wanna go to the hospital?"

I nod weakly, muttering sickly, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay, I'm going to the shower. Then, to bed. Yell if you need anything."

I can only nod with my eyes closed – heavy with sleep and the need to recuperate. My dreams are full of sweeping skirts, shadowed face people, a deep bright red swirling cape, those large curved golden horns, and a large cake for all the people in the golden hall.

**~ Asgard ~**

Thor stands outside the Forbidden Room – glaring at the rich redwood and the silver metal multi-branched vine crawling up the right side of the door. The vines, with their berries, curl around a single small, rose tinted, barred window. With the exception of his mother and father, no one has ever entered the room. It was in fact forbidden. Forbidden to all – even guests and Thor himself.

_What's in this room?_ Thor wonders.

This room is high in one of the many towers of Asgard; he had to walk up countless spiraling stairs to come up to this room. The spaced out, thin windows the only source that shows the moonlit land below and the torches the only source of light.

Ever since the visions have started, he has been questioning everything. Frigga and Odin refused to inform him about who this person is that his mother claims is alive and will be with them once more. It can't possibly be the young maiden from his visions. Just like when they first started, there's a pull in his heart that led him here.

The Forbidden Room. He never questioned his parents in the past from the empty chair to the sad mare in the stables and to this Room.

"It's just a room." He mutters, clutching the silver ornate door handle. He presses his thumb down on the flat, curved handle.

_It's unlocked_ , he realizes. A forbidden room unlocked.

The door doesn't even creak as he opens it. The smell fresh apples, cherries, and cut grass wafts up into his nose. There's a dawning realization on his expression that it smells of spring time. Not of stale air or mold – it smells as if someone, a woman, lives in here.

His eyes sweep across the vacant room that once housed to a young maiden. Everything is deathly and perfectly still. Nothing is out of place – not even a thread. Thor walks up to the bed and tenderly picks up a princess doll with very long golden hair.

_"Thor,"_ the maiden's voice cries brokenly.

The Golden Son whirls around to the closed door, seeing the shaking silhouette of the young woman. He can see more detail of her now; strands of her hair, the folds of her gowns, the manicured nails that currently is covering her mouth, and the tears flowing from her large eyes and down her smooth face.

He carelessly throws the doll down and embraces her, a protective instinct over coming him. His heart twists and turns and clenches within his chest, his core going ice cold. He pets her soft hair and holds her soft body tight as she sobs in his chest.

_"They killed him! They killed him! They killed him!"_ she chants, shaking him. _"They killed him, and there was nothing I could do!"_

"You did everything you could do," his voice is deep even as he whispers in her hair. "You pleaded for him to the AllFather in front of the entire court and you cried for Heimdall to act." Thor has no idea where these words are coming from. How does he know what to say to her?

_"Neither of them listened to me! No one EVER listens to me, but you and Loki!"_

_She knows of Loki?_ Thor questions; staring down at the black form before him. That is why he went down to him so many days ago; he had a feeling that Loki knew of her. Heard her, felt her, or even seen her. Loki claimed otherwise; insulting Thor for thinking such ways.

"We are your brothers; we will ALWAYS listen to you."

_"And yet mother and father refuse,"_ she continues to cry.

Thor sits them down on her bed, placing her trembling form on his lap and his chin on her head. "Then it is on them. Your thoughts, words, and actions would be good for Asgard. I," he emphasizes, "will listen to you when I'm king. You spoke out for love, for life, and they wouldn't listen."

_"What does a child know of love?"_ she asks. The words have a familiar ring to them as if Thor has heard them before.

"Father and Mother lost a faithful hand and the love of their daughter." He presses a kiss to her crown; closing his eyes. "You must know this, dear sister; Loki and I will forever love you and protect you. We have spoken and agreed to kill anyone who dares to lay a hand on you in a harmful way. Father and Mother will listen to us – to you – if the situation should arise again."

The silhouetted maiden is resorted to sniffles and random hiccups. She pulls away from him to look up at him; Thor wipes away the tear stains on her face.

_"I had to bury him, Thor."_ Her voice is oddly weak sounding to his ears.

"You were always braver than I thought." He presses a kiss to her smooth forehead.

"Thor," Frigga's voice shatters the silhouette to fine black shards in her son's hands, "what are you doing here?"

With a suddenly aching body – the lack of sleep taking its toll on his person – he rises from the bed.

"Mother," he says voice deep and filled with concern. He looks up at her, hoping that she'll be able to answer him now. Her eyes are wide, which means she either saw or heard him speaking to no one. "I fear there might be something wrong with me."

Frigga, who heard and saw the exchange, and loves each of her sons equally, stares at her son with a gentle expression. Her eyes fall on the rumpled bed and carelessly forgotten doll; stomach squeezing uncomfortably. Taking a deep breath, she says, "Thor, I heard you talking to someone. There isn't anyone here. Who were talking to?"

"That's why I think something's wrong with me." he stands, walking up to her as he looks down at the hands that once held the maiden. "For these last few ongoing months – three I believe – I've been seeing, hearing, and feeling this…maiden. Not in any inappropriate way!" he quickly adds, seeing his mother's look. "She comes to me – mostly at night – seeking comfort and guidance. Lately, she's has gotten in more detail. This time she was crying, saying "They killed him! They killed him! They killed him!" I KNEW what to say to say to her and I don't know how or who it was exactly "they" killed."

"Come with me," Frigga holds out her hand, to which her son takes. She leads him to the sorcery room. Within the room she makes him stand in front of a single, wooden, small glassed door cabinet. Like the many times she has rehearsed in her head; Frigga takes out the antique bronze key hidden under the collar of her dress. With a light click the glass doors open. She then reaches up to take out a mini goblet from the cabinet above. Very carefully – her thoughts racing wildly, wondering what her AllFather husband will think after this – she pours the necessary amount of the potion.

"Drink this," her voice cracks, "it'll heal your thoughts."

He takes, the putrid smell drifting up to his nose. _It looks like mead, but it smells awful._

"Are you sure, Mother? It doesn't exactly smell drinkable."

"Trust me." she urges, hopeful for him to drink the bright neon blue with the swirling gold strands. "You must drink."

"Very well." Holding his breath, the Mighty Thor throws his head back and takes it all in one gulp. It burns horrible all the way down to his stomach. He stumbles back in shock; knocking some delicate vials of differing colors on the stone floor. His eyes are wide as he stares at all the flashing images flooding from the dark and chained corner of his mind.

_A child races down the hall in a long, light pink nightgown. Her tiny feet rapidly take her further and further away from Thor and Loki. Long golden hair sweeps behind her._

_Another image. The pretty child, who's grown quite a bit and hair is done up in a delicate style, pets the long muzzle of the now sad white and gray mare. "She's truly mine?" her large blue eyes stare up at Thor in question._

_There's a third. A young, teen Thor runs down the long corridor searching for her. He hears a gentle hum, a familiar and lost tune in the midday sun. He shouts for her; she turns, long black lashes kiss rosy cheekbones as she blinks in confusion. Her golden brows and her dainty nose scrunch up in annoyance._

_"Thor?" his name sounds so sweet coming from her pink lips._

_He begs (yes, begs) for her not to tell Mother and Father that he attempted to lift Mjölnir as she takes his large, burnt hand in her small, delicate ones._

_Of course she says she will, a white glow emitting from her hand and a cooling breeze leaves her lips. His sniffles and whimpers slowly ceases as the cooling sensation dulled the ache to nothing._

_"You truly are the best sister anyone could have." He hugs her tightly._

_She gives him a weak laugh and hugs him back. "Thank you, Thor."_

_A fourth. Thor walks out into the many gardens outside of the palace of Asgard; searching for his dear friends. However, he neither sees nor hears them. A warm breeze brushes against his cheek, playing with his short blonde hair and scraping against his matching stubble._

_A familiar tune is carried on the wind – a song he has heard many times before as a child. He walks deeper and deeper in the gardens, following the song and smiling. He knows who this person is now._

_Rounding a tall ivy and white rose covered wall, Thor sees the beautiful young maiden. She sits away from the stone path, her legs tucked under her long skirt, surrounding herself in a thick bed of deep red roses._

_She clips a single rose. Smiling she raises the blossom to her lips, taking a deep inhale of the enticing aroma._

_She kisses a petal; her red lips nearly identical to the redness of the petal._

_The Prince of Asgard smiles seeing her at peace. A rare sight these last few years._

_A fifth. Thor lets out a mock roar as he chases a pretty skirted woman. Upon reaching her, the giggling woman vanishes. He blinks at the empty air._

_"Attempting to court pretty women, brother?"A voice purrs from his right._

_He whirls around and sees a now beautifully young adult Princess of Asgard – his sister – with a mischievous glint in her bright blue eyes._

_"Attempting?" he asks as he saunters up to her grinning wildly. "I would have succeeded had it not been for your trickery. Honestly, sister, you have be spending your days with Loki for far too long."_

_"And whose fault is that, brother? Surely, it is not mine or ours, so whose?"she says with a sarcastic quip and a quirk of her brow. There's a playful smile on her red lips._

Those words – those two single words – echo in his head as the images rapidly flash before his tearful eyes. Every caress, every embrace, every whisper, every cry, every laugh – every memory overtakes his mind. He remains paralyzed as he watches the life he once had unfolds before his wide eyes.

A silently crying Frigga sits her son down in a nearby chair. She watches him as he relives the life he once had.

"A sister," he whimpers, tears now falling one by one from his eyes. Rain begins to fall from the skies and thunder shakes the grounds – of Asgard and Midgard.

He trembles, so much so that the chair vibrates, as the memory of her screams as she is taken away comes to him.

Thor, the God of Thunder, lets out a mighty roar, "I HAVE A SISTER!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I’m very happy about this chapter, not for Tessa’s discomfort or pain, and I apologize for the crazy amounts of blood, but it seems so…like such a punch in the face. And the reason WHY Tessa’s bleeding so much will be revealed in the next chapter.**
> 
> ****END NOTES:****
> 
> ****5) If there’s one thing I absolutely hate about these “real-life” fanfics is that people take the fourth wall and smash it to bits. I don’t mind it when they mention cosplay or real-life singers, and such. However, I’ve seen stories where the main protagonist says: “Oh, ya’ know, Loki, you sound and look a lot like the actor Tom Hiddleston.” Then, I twitch and lose all interest in the story. I’m sorry, but I do.** **
> 
> ****Sherlock is a pet name Tessa gave Tony – I gave Tony – because they are both incredibly intelligent individuals. I’m not saying that Tony looks and acts like RDJ (which they kinda do if I’m gonna be honest) and that they should meet. While, I admit that I’ve put the movie Spiderman in an earlier chapter and he’s a part of the Marvel universe – Peter Parker/Spiderman will NOT be making an appearance in this story.** **
> 
> ****6) I have no idea where that came from, honestly.** **
> 
> *********VOTE COUNT:***  
>  Loki- 9  
> Steve- 6**
> 
> ****I’m gonna test something out now, instead of simply giving you guys simply a title, I’ll give a…*deepens voice so it’s announcer-like* “Next time on _Princess of Asgard_ ” *normal voice* bit. Please let me know what you think of it in the reviews or via private message. I hope they won’t be too spoiler-riffic.** **
> 
> **** Next Time on _Princess of Asgard_ :   
> ** **
> 
> **"Us, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif would have fought side-by-side to get her back – where ever she might be. We WILL rescue her! All of Asgard should have their princess back, as you and Mother should have your daughter back, as the Warriors Three and Lady Sif should have their dear friend back, and as I and Loki will have a sister back!"**
> 
> **"Do you know where she is?"**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **Thor lurches forward, a sudden clap of thunder matches his action, with eyes wide and wild, he kicks himself off of his bed and rips off his door. He's running down the hall, cape whipping behind.**
> 
> **Thrusting the doors open, he shouts, "I know where she is!"**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **"MADI!" I shout, weakly banging on her door. I can hear her talking to the paramedics on the other side of the phone. "MADI! I'm fine! Hang up!" It takes all of my strength to remain standing, even if I'm leaning against the door.**
> 
> **"MADISON!" I scream over the sudden flash of lightening and clap of thunder, sliding down the door coughing. The backs of my knuckles simply brush against the door now. For some unknown reason, tears trickle and burn down my face.**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **"THOR!" I hear the voice of a distant man shout.**
> 
> **My head rolls in the direction of the voice. There are two men in black suits jumping over the high fence.**
> 
> **"THOR, DON'T!"**
> 
> **"TESSA!"**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **My world goes black.**
> 
> ****Next chapter's title:  
>  Taking Back the Stolen Shadow****


	10. Taking Back the Stolen Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A large shadow, larger than ever before, casts itself over the God of Lies and Mischief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Guys/Gals, I just got my hair done and I can FEEL the gray hairs coming in from all the stress of finals this past week. I'm not even that old! Thankfully, it's over and winter break has begun. This means I can write more, read for pleasure, and shoot Nazis/Red coats (I'm talking about video games for the later).**
> 
>  
> 
> **TIME FOR THANKS! I have gained a few new kudos from people: BadWolf10, shadowofeve, Starrytownblues, and several guests. Along with them, there is Allswellthatends and BadWolf10 for the bookmarks. I've gained a some votes, as well: BadWolf10 and shadowofeve. The votes are REALLY close now, guys/gals! The ***VOTE COUNT*** is now:  
> **  
> Loki- 11  
> Steve- 9
> 
>  
> 
> **Heads up though, my beta said this ending will hit you in the face/gut with "the feels!"**

"Why would you do this to me – to everyone?" Thor's voice bellows all around the grand Throne Room, his azure eyes blazing with hate and betrayal as he looks upon his father.

Long, thin drops of rain rapidly pelt against the golden palace like arrows eager to shoot someone, anyone – Odin mainly. Through the glassless windows that perfectly align the walls, far from where the massive throne sits, the arrow-like rain drops pierce the floor. They shatter into tiny plops of water when they collide with the solid flooring. Thunder rages and booms; shaking the earth, the delicate items on end tables, and the paintings on the wall.

"You were a boy and you lost your best friend. You wanted war." Odin calmly stated sitting atop his throne.

"As it should have been! Those monsters – an unknown race – come to our home in the dead of night and slaughter the innocent! And, if my memory serves, you and Heimdall killed all of them! You both killed an entire race when YOU have told me it was impossible! You told we cannot-should not kill an entire race!"

"We don't know for sure if they're ALL dead. It was a small band of them."

"How do you accept me to believe that when the past twenty-five years have been a lie, Father? You feed me – everyone – a potion to forget about her? SHE IS MY SISTER! MY BLOOD! OUR BLOOD! She and I grew up together, before we were even born into this world, and you, Father," he spat out the sour title as it left a bad taste in his mouth, "took all those precious memories from me. What if the thought of her living kept Loki and me from being what we are today?" Now he ascends the throne's steps, his strong hate keeps himself from choking on the thought of how his and his brother's lives would be if they have known the truth.

He continues, "Us, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif would have fought side-by-side to get her back – where ever she might be. We WILL rescue her! All of Asgard should have their princess back, as you and Mother should have your daughter back, as the Warriors Three and Lady Sif should have their dear friend back, and as I and Loki will have a sister back!"

"Do you know where she is?"

At those words, Thor's exterior diminishes to nothing. Does he know where she is? Not even Heimdall completely knows, nor does his mother or her magic.

"No," he grumbles head down and shoulders slumped. Although, like the crack of a whip, his head snaps back up and his shoulders are straight. "But I WILL find her. She WILL return to us. I will see to it."

In a dashing whirl of his cape, Thor storms out of the Throne Room the guards shutting the massive doors behind him.

Odin deflates back on his throne; losing all of his strong royalty and becoming an old man worrying about his only daughter. His large, rough fingers rub against his forehead – his many, and adding, wrinkles. "How could you do this?" he grumbles to his wife.

Frigga, who rushed besides Thor as he stomped towards his father's chamber, stands dutifully near his side. She looks down at him with concerning wise eyes.

"He started having visions of her. He claimed it was going on for the last three months. I can only think of them happening after what Loki has done to the City of York; something—someone must have triggered those memories."

Frigga pauses, gathering her thoughts, before continuing, "It's only logically that Loki started having visions of her, too, now. She and Loki were rather close."

"She was closer with Thor," Odin grumbles, staring at the closed doors.

"Of course they were; they're twins."

"Will you give him the potion?"

A short pause hangs in the air, elongated with each second, amplifying the sounds of rain and thunder.

"Yes," she coolly replies.

There's the sudden cliché clap of thunder shaking the door at her answer.

"I cannot stop you?"

"You can't and you won't. Loki is our son and he should, also, have the right of knowing his loving sister is still out there. His mind is broken and she, like she always has done, will give him a peace of mind and a loving embrace."

The AllFather looks up at his queen with a tired eye. Even if he hid the potion or smashed it, he knows she'll find a way to recreate it and hide it herself.

_She is right though_ , he thinks bitterly. _Why must women be so…stubborn?_ There's no way the King of the Nine Realms would admit that women are right.

His old-feeling bones pop as he stands, sighing, he says, "Very well. Just know that it is only YOU that must deal with the consequences."

"I know," she pauses, "my King."

She watches him leave, lips in a firm line and a line between her brows. Queen Frigga, the Goddess of Marriage and Motherhood, stands firm in her decision. She will have her daughter back.

…

Thor paces up and down his chambers; his cape dangerously close to tripping him each time he turns. He's muttering angrily under his breath, jerking his arms up and down and this way and that. The cool rain does nothing to ease the heat radiating off of him. The combination of his body heat and the cool air surrounding him causes his breath to come out in huffs and puffs. He cannot rest. Not with this new found information.

"A sister…," he mutters to himself, shaking his head. "They hid you from me."

He pauses in his angry stride to rub between his brows; easing away the headache. He takes deep, soothing breaths – something he's seen Loki do in the past – to calm his inner turmoil. It works in a way; just too slowly for his liking.

The memories of her flow through his mind like a flooded wreckage, staying in place and rippling off nearby objects and fading into another memory. Then another. Then another. The memories of her are never-ending.

Slowly, Thor sits down on his bed and he soon falls onto his back with a tired groan. He rubs his face and runs his large hand over his bread.

_It's been over twenty-five years and I'm remembering your face, dear sister. You haven't been here and yet you should be._

There's a small itch in the back his mind; Thor knows he's seen her face somewhere. He closes his weary eyes and listens to the pouring rain and loud thunder.

"Where are you, sister?"

An image of rubble comes to his mind's eye. He keeps his eyes closed should he risk losing the images creeping up to him.

_Rubble._

_Broken glass and steel beams._

_An ear splitting scream shattering the eerie quiet around him and his teammates._

_An arm pinned under the rubble, bleeding profusely with a steel pole penetrating soft pale flesh._

_A face – a beautiful, familiar face – shining with gratitude looks up at him._

Thor lurches forward, a sudden clap of thunder matches his action, with eyes wide and wild, he kicks himself off of his bed and rips off his door. He's running down the hall, cape whipping behind.

Thrusting the doors open, he shouts, "I know where she is!"

Frigga, who was heading towards the massive double doors, stops with wide eyes. "What?" she asks breathlessly.

"Where is Father? He has to know where she is!"

"He is in his chambers." Frigga says, confused at her eldest's son's urgency.

At that, he turns around and runs toward his destination.

Frigga quickly gathers her skirts and runs besides him. "Thor," she cries, "what it is the matter? Did something happen?"

"I know where she is!" He doesn't slow down; reliving a far off memory of running down these halls to race to his father. "I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner – it all makes sense now. Seeing her is what made those…illusions happen."

"You know where your sister is?" Overcome with joy, tears nearly spring forth in Frigga's eyes. "Where is she? Is she well?"

"She resides on Midgard, in the City of York. She was there when the chitaruri attacked. I do not know how she is at the very moment, but when we met she was hurt. And alive."

They reach Odin's and Frigga's bedchambers in a matter of moments after that, neither panting from the exertion. Without pausing, the wife of Odin opens the door with a determined gleam in her eyes. Their child – their only daughter – is alive!

"Heimdall?" she and Thor both blink, confusion written across their faces.

From his place by the roaring fire Odin stands and walks up to his son. Eye to eye, the AllFather tells Thor, "Your sister resides in the City of York, in a small and simple village beyond the steel and glass, in agonizing pain. Those of S.H.E.I.L.D. watch her and her handmaiden's every move, for reason we know not why. She knows you – she's SEEN you. You carried her from the rubble. You are to go to Midgard and bring her home."

"Yes, Father."

"Come," Heimdall calmly says, despite the heavy anxiety hanging in the air around them, "we mustn't wait."

He turns to Frigga, before continuing, "My Queen, will you be able to perform the necessary magic to transport Prince Thor to and from Midgard."

"Yes, of course."

And so, she gathers the necessary ingredients and books of black magic to transport her son to Midgard and as well as her daughter back home.

**~ Midgard ~**

Clutching my queasy stomach, I roll onto my side to face the plastic bin that's over the edge. I haven't vomited (that I know of) since the party, yet my nose still drips with blood occasionally. It has only been a few hours since we've gotten home and I'm feeling worse and worse. Madi is animated about me going to the hospital and I continuously refuse. She can't make me go if I don't want to.

"Tessa," she says again, crouched at my bedside and gingerly wiping the underside of my nose, "you NEED to go to the hospital."

"NOOOOOOO!" I childishly yell, nose stuffed up and a heavy need to vomit quickly coming up. I shove Madi's face away and swipe up the bin. I'm only met with dry heaving and flecks of blood spewing from my mouth. "Shit." I groan, dropping the bin and rolling away from Madi.

"And this is why you NEED to go to the hospital. Tessa," she touches my shoulder even though I flinch at her touch, "I know you know that coughing up blood or vomiting blood is a serious thing. Hell, your nose has been bleeding nonstop! This isn't normal, Tessa!"

"No," I cough under the covers, hiding the small flecks of blood that leave my mouth, "hospital."

"Why? And don't say it's 'cause you don't like them. I want the whole truth."

"Too much." I pause, trying to smooth out my now raspy voice. "Too much has happened this past week. This'll only add to the fire and accusations will start to fly." It's not really the truth of how I feel, but it is true.

"Do you want me to call your parents?"

"No," I wheeze, "they won't listen to me; they'll call for an ambulance."

The knots tighten in my stomach and I can feel the queasiness rising again. This time, I slowly roll onto my back and take deep breaths through my nose. Tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes as I slowly turn. I can see Madi slowly back away when I reach down for the bin again. This time when I gag and cough, my stomach works to lift and propel the blood from my system. My chest even tightens to work with my stomach, ridding more and more blood. My nose bleeds with a renewed vigor, too.

"That's it!" I hear Madi yell and her stomping feet leaving my room. "I'm calling for an ambulance; this is ridiculous. I don't know why I didn't do this sooner!"

"No!" I let out one last gag, before throwing the bin down and stumble out of my room. One of my feet steps into something wet and sticky, and I don't bring myself to care I need to get to her before she calls for help.

_This'll pass – it HAS to pass. I'm not sick!_

"MADI!" I shout, weakly banging on her door. I can hear her talking to the paramedics on the other side of the phone. "MADI! I'm fine! Hang up!" It takes all of my strength to remain standing, even if I'm leaning against the door.

"MADISON!" I scream over the sudden flash of lightening and clap of thunder, sliding down the door coughing. The backs of my knuckles simply brush against the door now. For some unknown reason, tears trickle and burn down my face.

_She can't do this, she just can't._

I can hear her talking to them. Her voice is mumbling and nearly lost in the sudden downpour of rain, which bounces off the shingles of our roof and the glass on our windows.

_Go outside_ , a voice whispers in my ear. _You'll feel better if you go outside._

I don't question the soft and familiar voice. Rolling onto my hands and knees, I stand up on shaky legs and wobble to the back door.

It all seems like an out of body experience; I'm mentally aware of what I'm doing, but my body works of its own accord. My legs take me across our bare and dark living room floor; the frequent flashes of lightening are my only sources of light. My fingers curl around the sliding glass door's handle and my body works to push it open. I can hear myself grunt with the effort.

I know I'm doing this, and yet, I can't stop myself. I simply must go outside.

The mist of the rain showers my bare arms and face. I walk across our drenched stone patio to the cold, wet grass. I'm instantly drenched; my hair is plastered to my head, back, and face and my light pajamas are glued to my body.

I look up at the dark, starless sky. By some miracle the sharp raindrops don't fall into my eyes and I'm smiling for some odd reason. Closing my eyes, I let the cold water wash over me; oddly feeling much better.

"TESSA!"

Lowering my head, I look over to my house. I see Madi standing in the threshold of the apartment with a worried and scared expression written over her face.

I wave at her; becoming memorized at how my hand moves and the steam rolling off of my hand and slim fingers.

"TESSA!" She shouts again over a roll of thunder, screaming fright shortly after. "TESSA, GET BACK IN HERE NOW! The paramedics are on their way!"

I look the rest of my arm – hearing her and not at all – seeing steam roll up my arm in thin tendrils.

"Fuck it," she grumbles, "I'm getting an umbrella."

Looking at my other arm, I see thin white tendrils rising off of it as well. My fingers brush across my face.

_Maybe I'll feel it coming off of me. I childishly think._

There's a snap to my right. Looking at the now lit house I see the backdoor is shut with Madison nowhere to be found.

_How did she do that?_

There's a tickle in the back of my throat and I double over to cough, gag, and heave large amounts of blood.

_Shit!_

Falling on my hands and knees I let the attack happen. The dark blades of grass and rain quickly hide any evidence that it happened. Unable to rise, I shakingly crawl back to the house. The flashes of light and booming claps of thunder grow more and more frequent until they're right on top of the other.

I'm half on the stone, when I see Madi violently trying to open the door. I see her screaming my name and tears streaming down her terrified face. She shakes and bangs against the glass door.

There's a loud, ground shaking thrum of thunder and a burst of heat.

She whirls around and runs for the front door.

My vision is going dark around the edges.

Looking behind me, I see a silhouette of a tall man. As if I weigh nothing at all, he carefully and fluidly lifts me up like a fragile princess. Not saying anything, he takes a few steps away from the backdoor.

"THOR!" I hear the voice of a distant man shout.

My head rolls in the direction of the voice. There are two men in black suits jumping over the high fence.

"THOR, DON'T!"

"TESSA!"

Tilting my head back, with the world upside down, I see Madi sprinting towards me and the supposed Thor.

"Mother," Thor's deep voice shakes me to the core, "I have her!"

With those last three words I'm surrounded in dazzling, blinding fiery colors and it feels like my body is being lifted and taken away. My eyes grow heavy and burn with the need of sleep. I try to fight the feeling; wanting to hit and hurt this guy for taking me away.

_I'm…he's…taking…kidnapping…me?_

Unfortunately, I can't resist sleep's siren call.

My world goes black.

…

Even though my world is now surrounded in darkness, I can still hear everything. Papers move and fall on tables and the floor, static jumps off of me and Thor; jumping through the air around us. I can hear several more people within the room – breathing, gasping.

"Quick, Thor," a woman says breathlessly, "place her on the bed."

He slowly walks, boots barely making a sound and metal softly clinking together, towards his destination. He very carefully lowers me down onto a soft, warm bed and then I'm draped in thick furs.

"She was outside when I found her – bleeding. Will she be alright?" Thor asks concern laced in his words.

Long fingernails brush against my forehead; pulling away locks of wet hair from my face. "She will be. Now that she's here, she'll be just fine."

"Can she hear us?"

_Yes._

"It is highly unlikely," states a different, more knowledgeable and old sounding male voice. "This isn't simply a Sleep. Her blood is changing back to Aesir; that's what the potion did to her. It changed her blood to match those on Midgard, which is why we could not find her until now."

"But she hasn't aged as they do; she would be far older if that were the case."

_Hey!_

"It drew her appearance back in time," stated a different, alto voice. "It is a rare type of drink; it can turn a grown man back into an infant and do away with his memories. That is what happened to her and why she does not recall her life here. She is someone else completely now."

"Will she regain her memories?" Thor asks.

"I don't know."

"Mother?"

Slim fingers interlace with my own and another covers them, matching the smoothness holding mine. A thumb gently runs back and forth along the back of my hand. "I don't know," she says, "those years ago were the first time I've ever heard of such concoction."

"Do you think that L–"

"No," states the aged voice sternly. "Do not even think it."

"Father."

"Odin."

_So that's his name_ , I tell myself. _That aged, knowing voice is Odin's voice._

"She and Loki,"

_Loki? That Norse God from my mythology book?_

"Were extremely close – as she was with me. Surely, if we give him the potion he'll help us. If not for us, then for her."

_This man…is Thor from the Avengers._

"No, how do we know if he will poison her?" I hear Odin pacing up and down the length of the room.

"If it'll make you feel more at ease," the only woman begins, "I will ask Eir to assist in the creation of the potion. She is the Goddess of Healing and Medicine; she'll help us. As well as Lodur, together they'll create something safe."

"Very well." Odin agrees with a heavy sigh. The sound of metal clinks; he's brushing his hair back perhaps?

_I wish I knew more of these people that they're talking about._

"Odin," calls the mother with a questioning tone, "where are you going?"

"I…I need to be out – I can't be here."

A door creaks as its being opened and it softly clicks shut.

"My Queen," the alto, smooth voice starts. He nearly startles me from not hearing him for so long. "I, too, must take my leave. I am glad that the princess has returned to us, but I am seeing things require my utmost attention."

"Such as what, Heimdall?" the Queen asks her grip slightly (maybe even possessively) tightens around my limp hand. I desperately want to hold hers in return, so that she and everyone else know that I'm at least semi-conscious. I can't though; my arms, legs, fingers, toes, everything, is still very heavy. Perhaps, it has to do with that "potion" they're talking about.

"Her handmaiden," the man with the alto smooth voice – Heimdall – starts.

_Handmaiden?_

"Is speaking with the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.,"

_S.H.I.E.L.D.?_

"They've taken her to their metal stronghold in the sky and are integrating her."

_Madi? Those not cops – S.H.I.E.L.D., whatever that means – are talking to her. I swear if they hurt her I'll kill 'em. Mr. One Eye being the first on my list._

"The helicarrier," voices Thor. "I will go speak with them. There is no reason for them to worry; she's home now."

"That WAS her home, Your Grace, if I may be so bold to say."

_Thank you, Heimdall._

"Unfortunately, she does not remember us."

"All of you," the Queen sternly starts softly, her voice catching, "please leave."

"Mother?"

"If she can hear us – no matter how unlikely it seems – I don't want her to hear this. She has been through so much tonight and learning that someone close to her is being held in with S.H.I.E.L.D. is disconcerting."

"They will not harm her."

"Be that as it may, please speak them, Thor. Let them know that their," there's a beat as she tries to search for the right word, "princess is fine and is in good hands. I will speak with Eir and Lodur about the potion for her and Loki."

"You are sure, Mother?"

"Yes, I will be with her until you come back."

"Very well." I can picture Thor nodding his head reluctantly to the Queen, like all the movies I stared in and saw as I child. When someone was told to leave the room and asked if the other is sure, they'd nod when the other said yes. It's a matter of respect really. No matter how much you want to stay, you must listen to those of higher standing.

"Thank you." The Queen quietly calls out as the doors gently open and close shut.

Thus, I am left with a queen who claims I'm her daughter and a princess.

There's a brief pause in the air hanging above us like a dark cloud. All there is now are the sounds of her breathing, the crackling fire, and the storm raging outside. Now that everything is silent and I'm not constantly wondering where everyone is and what they're talking about. I feel how richly sewn the sheets under me are. There's a multitude of smooth, soft, and warm stitches under my fingertips. The blankets covering me are thick, heavy, and they feel like flesh and something very soft tickles my chin and cheek – furs.

"You can hear me, can't you?"

The motherly voice in my ear would've made me jump if I wasn't in this state.

"Do you remember us?"

_No._

"My name is Frigga. I am your mother."

_I already have a mother. Her name is Rosabella._

"Odin is your father."

_Abraham is my father._

"Thor and Loki are your brothers."

_I'm an only child._

"Please, sweetie,"

_Tesoro._

She continues, "Let me know – somehow – that you can hear me." she waits all for nothing. "You can hear me, I know you can and I will wait for you to wake up. Then, we can start over again – things will be different. I promise."

_I don't know what you're talking about._

"You are inside a special type of chamber; it'll keep the blood inside you. It will still change though." She takes a deep breath in attempt to calm herself. One of her hands leaves mine and soon returns, a drop of moisture touches my skin.

_A tear? She's crying?_

"I'm sure you have heard us talking, so you know your blood is changing and I'm sorry for repeating it. It is not a pleasant experience I heard, but this'll lessen the pain. These last few nights you have lost a substantial amount of blood; I saw brief images that's, how I know.

"You do not need to be afraid – not anymore – someone will always be with you now. I, Odin, Thor, anyone we see fit really. There will be seasoned guards inside and out of this room to protect you."

_Protect me from what?_

"And each day either I or Thor or Odin will come and stay beside you until you wake up. We'll talk to you. Surely you remember us – your family."

_I already have a family._

There's a sudden knock on the door; I feel Frigga jump in surprise.

"Yes," she asks with her grip around my hand tightening around mine. I can only picture her glaring at the closed door.

"My Queen," a deep, gravelly voice sounds, "we were ordered by the AllFather,"

_AllFather? Odin? Shit, I know I know him!_

"To guard you and the Princess for the night."

The mattress shifts as she moves to sit up straighter. "Enter."

The door creaks open – louder this time it seems – and numerous heavy steps enter the room. They all kneel by the sounds of their clinking armor and a group call of "Ha!"

"Rise and go to your positions," Frigga commands gently with a stern voice.

They do just so. Some cross the room to stand a ways behind me, the walls beside us, and near the closed door. Others stand on the other side of the door. They all remain silent as Frigga whispers in my ear. The crackle fire and booms of thunder the only other sounds greeting my ears.

She talks about a life I've never had, about people I don't know, about things I've never done. She says a word, a name I think, time and time again. I think it might be that daughter of hers. I want to scream at her and tell her that I'm not the person she thinks I am.

Despite all my thoughts and desired actions, she continues.

Through the course of the night, the storm slowly stops and Frigga's voice grows thick and drowsy. She pauses every now and then to stifle her yawn and gather her thoughts. I almost grew used to hearing her stories, although I can't stand how she refers me as someone else entirely.

_I'm no princess. I just play one in movies._

"Your Grace," a soft voiced guard starts, "you have been up all night and the AllFather wishes to speak with you."

She lets out an exasperated sigh. The back of her fingers brush against my cheek and brushes away the imaginary strands of hair.

_I wonder what she looks like._

"Very well." The pressure besides me leaves as she rises. She mutters in my ear, her soft hair tickling my cheek, "before I go, my dear, simply know that you are truly loved and protected here." She straightens and her clicking shoes elegantly walk towards the door. "Watch her until Thor arrives. He'll want to speak with her alone."

"As you wish, my Queen."

A silence gently falls over everyone in the room once Frigga leaves; her footfalls echoing down the hall until there isn't a sound. I'm shocked really; I thought the guards would start talking amongst themselves. I imagined them gossiping like teenage girls at the lunch table about how their Queen is losing her mind and how she thinks I'm this "Princess of Asgard." They remain silent for a stretch of hours, the roaring fire and popping and snapping logs are the sounds filling the heavy air. Do they know of the state I'm in? How I can hear every word and whisper, but I can't move a muscle.

_Probably not._

It takes a great amount of failed effort to move a toe, a finger. I can only inwardly groan when they don't move; the fur tickling my face is becoming increasingly annoying. My eyes don't even move beneath my eyelids. The only sensation I feel is the thumping of my heart and my blood coursing through my veins; my neck, chest, wrists, knees, and ankles burn with the fire-like blood. I can practically feel the thick, hot liquid moving rapidly all throughout me. Between the rich sheets and heavy furs, with the crackling fire, I'm nearly sweating.

My ears practically perk up at the sound of thundering footsteps, soon the door slowly creaks open and closed, and the footsteps quietly walk up to my bedside. A subtle heat radiates off who I assume is Thor. He folds the furs away from my face without hesitation.

"Leave us." His voice confirms my suspicions.

The guards leave without hesitation or questions. The bed gives under his heavy weight once he sits down. He doesn't talk for a while, yet I can feel his eyes on me. The sound of chirping birds is the only sound between us.

"I have spoken with Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he starts, his voice a low and gentle rumble, "he has seen to it that his agents escorted your friend Lady Madison back to your housing. She is very distraught of what has happened last night, I have reassured her that you are in good hands. She does not believe me to say the least. Unfortunately, I could not give her the reasons as to why you were taken for I am still trying to grasp a hold of them myself.

"It is funny to say the least, to see you here and with my memories surging through my mind with a renewed vigor. To see you here, listening no doubt, you were always good at that, so still and expressionless is…odd. In all of my memories you are smiling, laughing, dancing, something incredibly animated. And to have them back so suddenly is just as…overwhelming. My memories, thoughts, and feelings for you are…strange. You were missing for the last twenty-five years – I see that now; an empty chair at a full table, a voice on the wind, a gentle hand in mine. I can only think of how you have returned – no matter how terrifying the beginning – you are here with us. My feelings…," he lets out an airy chuckle at that term, "my instincts rather are to protect you from all harm. To kill all of those who wish to harm you."

In my mind's eye, I can picture this tall, strong brute I've met only briefly (I shockingly remember the voice and name now) tensing under his armor. I urge my hand to move and hold his in a form of silent comfort. It remains motionless.

"I wasn't able to protect you that one night, which led to my memories and rage being taken away from me. And I SWEAR to you, sister," his voice takes on a possessive growl, "that I will ALWAYS protect. From this day forward I will protect you from harm – from the Frost Giants of Jotunheim to the Dark Elves of Svartálfar and to all the unworthy suitors Mother brings you." He lets out an airy laugh at the last "threat."

_An inside joke between him and his sister no doubt._

Thor's large and rough hand encloses around mine. "You are safe here, now. Far more than you have been on Midgard." I can feel his gaze flicker down to my right arm; the scar has vanished during the week I spent with my parents.

His voice is gentle as he continues, "That day I pulled you from the rubble I simply saw an injured young maiden with a spitfire personality. The way you talked and the way you acted then is so different from what I remember now; you swore and chortled openly. Your face seemed so familiar, yet I could not place where I've seen you before. Just a few nights after our chance meeting, I dreamt about you. I had visions of someone's silhouette and I heard your soft voice urging me somewhere. Now I know where – our secret training grounds, so that you may know how to use sword and shield.

"However, there was one night," Thor's voice losses its gentle whisper and gains a dark, depressing tone. His hand tightly holds mine. "Where Heimdall saw a threat in the wood. You have arrived far earlier for your training session – why, I didn't know then, you didn't wish to tell me. Heimdall saw that you were oblivious to the threat and quickly warned Father. Warriors – him, myself, Loki, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif included – were sent to defend you. Those who attempted to harm you were killed and, it is my belief that, that is where everything began to go array with us all."

His grip loosens and the heavy atmosphere seems lighten. "I'm sure Mother has already spoken about your life here, sister. About your title and those who love you. I will not reiterate what was said; I know how much you hate that." He lets out an airy chuckle.

"But, you must know that, you are truly loved here by all." His beard scratches against my cheek as he whispers in my ear. Still grasping my hand, he, much like Frigga, sits and talks about…this Princess, his sister. He tells me different stories; between her and him.

_How I would LOVE to say to everyone that I'm not actually a Princess._

**~ Asgardian Prison ~**

Deep in the dark dungeons of Asgard there many monsters: changed, beaten, and lost. There is the constant, echo _drip-drop_ of water that mixes with the soft grumbles of the monsters in their cells. Guards patrol the dank halls, their heavy footfalls a menacing sound to those locked away. But their footsteps are a more welcoming sound than that of the torturer known as Tandri. His sluggish, heavy, purposeful, and nearly torturous footsteps are accompanied with the _clicks_ and _clanks_ of his metal torture devices. He left long ago, just as the skies opened up to show the sun's hopeful ray, his clothes and tool bloodied.

Thankfully, Loki did not face Tandri's rage this night. Loki has gone long enough without his punishment, the torturer claimed when he first arrived. He was greedy for the exiled prince's blood, pain, and humiliation. He's gotten it many nights.

With dead, empty green eyes Loki stares at the goblet on the table. He's so desperately thirsty; he hasn't drunken much of anything for several nights. He can go much longer without something to drink than mortals can – that much is obvious. In the state that he's in now, the goblet calls to him like a siren's song. No matter how great his need to drink it is, he resists. He can SMELL the magic swirling around it; a putrid scent fizzling to the top.

_Why would Mother give me such a drink_ , he wonders.

Frigga, who came just hours after to Tandri's departure, claimed it will not harm him. In fact, she said it'll ease his nightmares – his thoughts of the shadowed maiden. Those moments after his punishment, she'd come to him; caressing his face and easing his pain and muttering in his ear of how strong he is for withstanding the torture for so long. Loki can't bring himself to hate someone such as her, no matter how much her naiveté and loving words irk him.

_"It will be best if you drink now, Little Loki."_ She whispers in his ear, petting his hair as his head rests on her chest. _"I know how thirsty you are, Mother would never harm you. You know that."_

"It's a potion," he mutters, staring longingly at it, his mouth growing dry and his tongue becoming like sandpaper.

_"It's going to help you. Loki, you haven't slept properly in ages."_ She brushes back some strands of his dark hair away from his pale, sickly face. _"This will help ease your thoughts. Everything Mother does is to help us."_

"Us?" Loki's bones ache as he rises and walks towards the table to stand above the goblet. Inside he sees the magic swirling in the otherwise clear liquid. Anyone else, who is untrained to see something like this, would have drunken it.

_Can she be trusted?_

_Yes, she can._

_"Aye, us."_ She elegantly sits up; legs tucked under her, back straight, and shoulders back. Just like a lady of royalty. Loki can see the outline of her eyes, full of earnest love and adoration emotion. She slowly rises to her feet, with her hands folded in front of her, and walks up behind him. Very cautiously, she rests her head on his back. _"Please,"_ she softly says, _"my Little Loki, drink."_

Long, thin, gray fingers tremble as they wrap around the stalk of the cup. Loki surprisingly steadily raises it to his thin, chapped lips. His stomach grows queasy as the rancid smell wafts up to his nose. He can only think of how faithful and loving his mother has been to him over the years; a protective mother bear over her odd cub.

Once the sweet tasting, foul smelling drink washes over his tongue does the shadowed maiden fades away and he can't stop himself from drinking. If he ignores the smell and solely focuses on the taste and the fact it's something for him to drink. Relinquishing the dehydration and chasing away every thought of Frigga betraying him.

Loki should've known better than to think of her betrayal.

He slams the goblet down on the table, panting with rivulets of water streaming down from the corners of his lips. Wiping the back of his wrist across his mouth, Loki looks around his cell. He won't admit out loud, but he searches for her. Why would she leave him after she told him—

The God of Mischief lets out a sudden gasp and doubles over, his nails dig into the wooden table. His thinning body trembles and his eyes are wide and full of panic as visions of a smiling blonde with big blue eyes swims across his mind.

_A child races down the hall in a long, light pink nightgown. Her tiny feet rapidly take her further and further away from Thor and Loki. Long golden hair sweeps behind her._

_Another moving image. He watches a pretty child, who's grown quite a bit and hair is done up in a delicate style, petting the long muzzle of the now sad white and gray mare. "You are a true friend of mine, do you that that?" she whispers before kissing the gray muzzle._

_There's a third. Loki sees the now adolescent woman sitting, in a pale purple dress with short flowing sleeves, watching Thor and his friends train. He can spot the forlorn look in her eyes. He decides to sneak-up on her, grinning with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes._

_"You're staring again, dear sister." He whispers smoothly in her ear._

_Gasping, she whirls around to face him. Upon seeing it is him, she huffs and grabs the book that has fallen forgotten in her lap. Loki smirks when he sees that she's "reading it" upside down._

_"Yes, and?" she says with full annoyance._

_The sounds of the sparring oafs do not reach his ears once he hears her voice. He chuckles at her childish acts and sits in front of her on the open windowsill. He takes the book from her small hands, explaining that it's upside down before handing it back to her._

_"Thank you," she mutters, embarrassed._

_Once asking why she was staring at Thor and his friends, she explains that she wishes to learn more…productive magic; how to fight properly really. However, the AllFather forbids it because of her status and of who she is. She grows more frustrated and animated about it, of how she cannot always rely on him or Thor or the guards to protect. She NEEDS to learn how to fight, how to defend herself._

_"Then he is missing a great warrior-to-be. You are more agile and intelligent than a certain rash blonde we both know very well. And if a Frost Giant should break through our defenses, I will be there for you – just as Thor would be. We love you very much. And," he whispers, "I could teach a few harmful spells in secret, if you'd like." He said earnestly, smiling._

_"Thank you, Loki." She brushes her smooth hand against his face, fighting the urge to throw her arms around him. "You are always there for me when Thor is not. I am truly thankful to have you in my life." Her hand pushes back some of his more stubborn hairs behind his ear._

_"You are welcome." A smirk played on his lips. "Now give us a kiss." He jokingly leaned in closer, his hand holding her neck._

_She bops her book on Loki's forehead, giggling. "Stop it."_

_A fourth. Loki and Thor limp their way down the golden halls with heads held high and grins full of mirth upon their faces. Thor laughs boisterously of their latest victory, claiming it was he who has saved them and their friends._

_"Please, brother," Loki drolls out rolling his eyes, "do you not recall it was I who veiled us in smoke?"_

_Thor lets out a mighty laugh and throws his arm around his brother's shoulder. "A mere bag of tricks cannot fight off a hundred warriors."_

_Just as the Trickster goes to retort to that comment, a string of delicate golden bells ring through the long corridor. "THOR! LOKI!" they cry._

_Turning around, Loki sees a tall young woman running towards him—them. She's grinning widely and openly, shouting their names, holding up her long skirt so that she may run faster to them. Her laughter is like music to his ears once her arms are draped around them._

_"You've returned!" she cries._

_"Of course we have!" Thor boasts, lifting the squealing maiden high above the air and twirling her around. "Did you honestly believe that we'd allow giants to defeat us?"_

_"Put me down," she laughs, slapping his hand._

_Loki, not wanting to break the tranquility of the two Golden Children, watches silently with a fixed smile. It is moments such as these does he realize how different he is from them. Golden hair, healthy sun-kissed skin, bright blue eyes, and adored by all._

_"Not until you answer!" Thor laughs, still spinning her about._

_"Of course I would never believe that! Why would I? I'm your sister, you big stupid oaf!"Of course in statements such as that, Loki realizes he spends more time with her than Thor does as of late._

_She lets out a mock scream as Thor drops her a foot above the ground. He does not release her as he continues his walk towards the Grand Hall, his massive armor clad arm draped across her tiny shoulder and her arm wrapped around his thick waist, his limp now forgotten with his sister by his side. They talk and laugh amongst one another, seemingly forgetting their younger brother behind them._

_Loki quietly walks behind them, trying to forget his limp. In his peripheral vision, he sees his shadow on the golden wall: tall and imposing, just like Thor's. Their sister, who blended in so perfectly with him, is laughing and talking about what they have missed during their adventure. She twirls out of their combined shadow and elegantly moves her arms about to describe a scene to them. Thor, playing the growling beast of this story, roars and takes her in an embrace. Loki looks at the wall as he does so; he sees the God of Thunder's shadow swallowing her whole._

_They turn a corner and their shadows are no longer along the wall. Loki looks behind him and sees the Golden Children's shadow; two separate beings now holding each other and laughing with one another._

_Loki no long sees his shadow in their greatness._

_A fifth. Under the clear blue sky and dazzling yellow sun, the youngest Prince of Asgard walks down the dirt path towards the stables, smiling with the thought being with his sister. He fulfilled his promise to her; he won't be spending so much time with his books and spells and will be spending this glorious day with her. Perhaps, if he's lucky, she will allow Sleipnir to ride with them. Though there isn't a doubt in Loki's mind that she will forbid her nephew to be with them; she loves the eight-legged stallion just as much as he does. No matter how he was conceived._

_Yes, Loki tells himself, today will be a magnificent day._

_The stablehands bow at their passing prince, muttering their greetings. Ignoring them and their instinctive gestures, Loki walks with a purpose towards the towering stable. He knows that his sister will be there now – she always arrives too early._

_Hearing a stifled giggle and a forced "shush," Loki slows his pace. Many of the servants are in the fields, tending to the mares and stallions, so who would be in the barns with his sister? Surely, someone already saddled his and her horses._

_Slowly entering the stable, Loki remains hidden in the shadows. He watches the exchange between his sister and the stable boy._

_"Thank you for your assistance, Dreng." She purrs; sending a wave of hate to ripple through Loki._

_"It was my pleasure, Your Grace." His tanned, scarred hand gingerly touches her fingertips on the leather saddle. He lifts her delicate hand to his lips, surrounded by dark stubble; he gently kisses the back of her hand. Loki sees how their eyes lock and do not leave one another's._

_Walking out of the shadows, the prince purposefully makes more noise than he should at the entrance; causing the two to jump away from one another. Loki cannot stop the sense of pride washing over him._

_"Stable boy," he calls, eyes cold and glaring, "saddle Sleipnir. And be quick about it."_

_"Sleipnir is coming with us?" his sister asks innocently as the claimed Dreng rushes off to the growing black stallion._

_"Yes," Loki fluidly lifts her up on her saddle, his eyes following this…Dreng, "I thought it would be good for all of us."_

_"Of course," she smiles, eyes filling with gratitude, "I do not know why I hadn't thought of that. It should be fun to spend with him."_

_The dark haired stable boy walks up to them with Loki's eldest child fully dressed for their outing. Sleipnir whinnies and neighs gleefully at seeing his mother; all of his eight legs dancing under him._

_Loki's sister laughs at the sight. "It would appear that someone has missed you, Little Loki!" she giggles adorably behind her hand._

_Loki pets Sleipnir's nose, smiling. All ill and dark thoughts leave him as he sees his son. That day Loki and his sister ride out to the wood to laugh, read, and jest._

_"I missed spending time with you, brother." She looks down at him as she finished reading a poem._

That word – that single word – echoes in his head as the images rapidly flash before his glassy eyes. Every caress, every embrace, every whisper, every cry, every laugh – every memory overtakes his once sharp mind. He remains doubled over, gasping for a breath, as he watches the life he once had unfolds before his wide eyes.

There is no one here besides him to help him sit down in a chair, no one to watch him as he relieves the life he once had.

Loki whispers a name he long forgot even existed as he falls to the cold floor. That name is replaced with a special meaning: sister. That title causes his throat to close and a flood of emotions to bloom and overrun his heart: longing, love, possession, hate. The swirling emotions cause his magic to run wild with him; the furniture in the cell vibrate, otherwise they remain unmoving.

_A sister_ , his mind whispers. Everything makes sense now; the shadowed maiden was a distant memory of someone he once loved and cared for. Loki begins to tremble in his spot as the memory of her screams as she is taken away comes to him.

Loki, the God of Mischief, yells at himself, his face gaining a scowl, _I HAD A SISTER!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** So…I'm sorry for the feelsy hit at the end and the cliffhanger ending. ^^; I just had to show the relationship between the Princess and Loki…and Thor a little bit. I hope you all liked it and I portrayed Loki in a light that pleases most.
> 
> HOPEFULLY, I'll have Chapter Eleven out on Christmas or New Year's Eve. It all depends on when my beta sends me her thoughts and edits. She told me her last final is on Monday, so it should be soon.
> 
>  
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:***  
> **  
>  Loki- 11  
> Steve- 9
> 
>  
> 
> **Next time on _Princess of Asgard_ :**
> 
>  
> 
> "That's her?" an accented woman voices, sounding very astonished.
> 
> "Aye, Lady Sif." Thor says.
> 
> …
> 
> "I always found it amazing how close you two were – feeling the other's emotions when they are strong enough. Truly amazing," Volstagg voices.
> 
> It sounds amazing. I tell myself with an inward smile; if only I could physically now.
> 
> …
> 
> Seeing him more and more, my eyes slowly widen and my mouth opens wide and I take a deep breath only to release a loud, ear-splitting: "WAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
> 
> …
> 
> "Her strength is returning." I hear Frigga mutter with a soft and grateful tone.
> 
> …
> 
> "You're taking me to see the monsters, aren't you?" What causes me to ask this and with such fear no less?
> 
> He grins up at me. "Don't worry, I'll protect you!"
> 
> "I'm older, I should protect you!"
> 
> "You're correct, but I'm a man!" his tiny chest swells with pride.
> 
> "You're a boy. Just like Thor's a boy!" My hand tightens around him.
> 
>  
> 
> **Next chapter's title:  
> ** There are Illusions in the Dark


	11. There are Illusions in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dark places tricks on us all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I'm gonna start off the new year by posting this chapter – a chapter I think you'll all love and hate. At least hate me anyway, for I have done the impossible…I've created a DOUBLE cliffhanger! I'm oddly proud about that.**
> 
> **Sadly, there might be a few mistakes here and there or awkward moments that I didn't catch. It's mainly due to the fact that my beta reader hasn't contacted me about it. I apologize beforehand if anything seems odd or out of character. In this chapter the Warrior's Three and Lady Sif are introduced and I only had to go on what the movie (the first Thor movie) depicted them as and a few fanfics. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM is welcome on how I did with them, as well as everyone else made by Marvel.**
> 
> **Anyway, time for thanks. Two people have given me their votes: mutantinthetardis and kaseyx0xkat. kaseyx0xkat has also given me kudos. ^-^**
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:***  
> **  
>  Loki- 14  
> Steve- 10
> 
> **Please let me know how I did with this chapter (it was a real bitch to write in the beginning) and what you thought about the ending. Read and review.**

I can't follow the sense of time in this state of semi-consciousness. I merely know that people come and go and the guards are changing with them. The fireplace has been put out for what feels like a long time now; torches take its place. I try to keep the time by the sounds I hear either sounds of day or night – happy singing birds or hooting owls. It all becomes white noise – background noise – at some point and I lose concentration. The conversations I hear in the distance are far more interesting. Every day (or night) the guards leave and…handmaidens come into this room to…to…wash me. They never say a word; they simply wash diligently and silently. I think Frigga watches them to make sure they don't harm me. Freaky and weird, but sweet in a way.

Thor and Frigga are the only ones to visit me; although, Frigga states Odin wishes he could, he is simply busy. My dad was always working when I was a kid and HE found time for me. I even helped him out in the field when I was old enough – I didn't know I was working at the time, but I loved every second of it. Odin simply being "busy" isn't a good enough excuse.

Today (or tonight) is different. I know Thor is coming – I can hear his heavy, confident footsteps marching down the hall – but there's a group of people following him. They all talk hurriedly and quietly. I can make out a single woman's voice in the small group of men.

I welcome the sound of the door creaking open and close.

Unlike many times before, Thor doesn't order the guards to leave.

"That is her?" an accented woman voices, sounding very astonished.

"Aye, Lady Sif." Thor says.

The distinct sound of flat-heeled shoes rushing towards me is short lived and a thin, calloused hand grasps mine. If it wasn't for hearing Lady Sif's voice, her hand would've given her femininity away – thin and lady-like. And hardworking by the feel of it.

Her whisper is nearly lost in the still air. I hear her whisper that name again. That name, that isn't mine, but belongs to the Princess.

"By the AllFather," sounds a male, slightly more romantic voice. He has to be a lady's man by the sounds of it.

More footsteps walk to my bedside and I can feel numerous pairs of eyes gazing down on me. If I could move, I'd be squirming under their gazes. I've only ever done one-on-one interviews for movies or a released CD.

"She hasn't aged a day."

"Aye, she truly hasn't, Fandral. Nothing has changed about her." I can picture Thor smiling as he speaks. Why? Given the circumstances, I don't exactly know. He still thinks I'm his sister and Frigga still thinks I'm her daughter.

"How did this happen?" asks a new man, his voice growling. This one sounds fatherly and like it's normally jovial than those I've heard previously.

"I do not know the exact details, Volstagg." Thor starts to explain. "My father will not fully explain what has happened. I merely know that it happened twenty-five years and three months ago,"

_I turned twenty-five three months ago._

Thor continues, "All I know is that there was an attack on the palace by an unknown race. I remember hearing my and Loki's name being screamed by a woman. At the time, I didn't know by whom. Now, I know it was her."

Lady Sif's hand tightens around mine.

"I heard her screaming for help and shouting spells."

"I remember that night. Those…things attacked without warning," Fandral says with concern, placing his hand on Thor's shoulder by the sounds of it. "I KNOW you fought to get to her."

"I wasn't quick enough though. I remember I taught her how to fight, but her lessons were short when I trained her. What could she have done with a sword and shield? Assuming she even had one from the start of the attack." the Prince snarls.

_More now probably._

"And just as she began screaming for Father, I saw, through the flames, those monsters taking her away through a portal that appeared out of nowhere. Through all of my rage and hate, I felt her fear and pain. You all know the rest."

There's a silence that falls onto the five of them. Lady Sif gently moves her thumb back and forth over the back of my hand. I can feel their eyes on me again.

"She fought," sounds a different accented voice – Asian? I can feel everyone's gaze shift to the male voice. "For someone such as her it is remarkable."

"Hogun is right." Fandral says. "We all remember her as this delicate doll with an underlying ferocity that yearned to fight alongside her brothers." I can hear his hand clamping down on someone's back – Thor's probably as he's the one that needs the encouragement and positive words. "I may not know exactly when or how often you trained her, but I know she trusted you above everyone else."

"You both had a strong bond – a bond I've only seen in twins." Sif says. "You said you felt her fear and pain that night. We have gone on journeys in the past where we were faced with taxing situations. Yet you remained at peace at times. She felt what you felt and wished for you to remain peaceful, so that you may fight with a clear mind."

"I always found it amazing how close you two were – feeling the other's emotions when they are strong enough. Truly amazing," Volstagg voices.

_It sounds amazing._ I tell myself with an inward smile; if only I could physically now. No matter how many times I hear Madi and Tom complain about their siblings, I've always wanted one. Someone to protect and love, and them to do the same to me in return. Sadly, with how busy the ranch is and how taxing it can be, my parents couldn't even adopt again. There are Madi and Tom and my cousins, though. I love them all. I wouldn't give them up for anything.

"And now she has returned." Thor says gently. Calloused fingers brush against my forehead and push back a few strands of my hair.

"Do you have an idea when she will wake-up?" Sif asks.

"Mother says when her blood is as it was. I do not know how long that will be. No one does."

"Then we will wait," Volstagg boats proudly. "We will do what we can for her and you and the AllFather and AllMother."

"We will not lose her again nor will we forget her ever again." Fandral swears his oath with an overwhelming sense of pride.

"We shall fight to protect as we always have," Hogun calmly states.

"As a friend to both of you, we will fight and protect as we have sworn to do," states Sif. "Even if we did not swear an oath, we will protect her with our lives." Her hand is a heavy presence around my limp one. I feel Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, and Thor's presence around me – staring at me with an air of calming and protectiveness I have only felt with my family and close friends.

Although I don't know these people – with the exception of an illustration of Loki and a brief look of Thor, I don't even know what they look like – and I won't forgive them kidnapping me, yet I feel…safe. Thor, this big time superhero who saved the world a few months back, took me away from my home even though people shouted at him to stop. Didn't he hear them or was he too preoccupied telling Frigga he has me?

_Probably not._

He was too preoccupied with taking me away – to see "my family and friends" again, to see that my blood is "safely changing." However, since then, he treats me gently and speaks to me in kind, soothing words. His accented voice was a low thrum in the silent night and his caress a gentle touch against my cheek.

Since my first night here, no one has spoken much of Loki or the potion again. Thor and Frigga only spoke of Loki in passing – about the times she, the Princess, and Loki were together and the moments they've seen.

Now these warriors swear to protect me no matter the cause.

_If only there was some way I can communicate with them. I'd tell 'em I'm not a princess or a sister. I've only ever played the part._

"She can hear us even now," Thor softly says, playing with my hair again. "I don't know when she exactly started hearing us, but she can. Maybe, when she wakes up, she'll remember us and there won't be a need for her to drink the potion."

"The one that Her Majesty put in our drinks?" Fandral asks.

"Yes. Lodur had created it ages ago, should the situation ever present itself, under Mother's command. Neither Lodur nor Eir know exactly what my sister was forced to drink – not even with Heimdall's last few seeings. He has seen the vial, but he does not know if that plays anything important."

There's a stretch of silence that falls upon them. The only sounds I hear are that of their and the guards' breathing. Those are the only sounds; the birds must've sensed that this is a serious matter and decided not to utter a peep. If I hadn't heard their breathing, I would've thought I was alone. And a deafening silence in the dark is the worst of the worst.

Thor sits beside me; the soft bed gives under his heavy weight. His hand, ever large and coarse, cradles the side of my face with a gentle touch. His rough thumb brushes itself under my closed and still eye. In that dawning realization of when I first met him I remembered how large and grizzly and positively manly he looked. In the shops I've passed after the attack, I've seen what the really brave (or really stupid) reporters caught on camera; him killing those aliens with a hammer and summoning lightening with it as well. For someone such as that to have such gentleness about him is truly surprising. Whether it be in this touch or in his voice.

"Have you told her the time you were shrunken down to the size of pea so that you may swim in your goblet of ale?" Volstagg suddenly asks, laughing whole-heartily.

I'll admit, it does sound funny.

"Of course I haven't!" Thor snaps, although I can hear the smile in his voice. "In these last few days I've been trying to make her remember the less embarrassing moments between us."

Everyone laughs at him, which is surprising with him being a prince. I guess they're all close enough to feel so comfortable.

"You see, lass," Volstagg whispers happily in my ear, "your brother was so happy with the latest battle that he drank himself silly."

"He was boasting and sauntering; making a complete fool of himself." Fandral laughs. "Had it not been for Queen Frigga, I fear he would've done far worse than kiss a few girls."

"Nearly stripped himself naked, he did." I can feel the smirk on Sif's lips as she non-discretely whispers in my ear.

_Okay, now things are getting good._

"Must you tell this story?" Thor leaves my bed, groaning in embarrassment.

"Of course! This story never grows old."

Volstagg continues with the story, "Then after his mother and father left, only for a moment mind you, lass, Thor saunters up to Loki asking him to flood the halls with mead and ale. Loki could not—would not do this, claiming that it simply flood out of the hall and into the ground outside the palace. So, the Trickster did the next best thing to keep your brother happy. Placing an impatient Thor near his drink, Loki shrunk the Thunderer down to the size of a grain of rice!"

Everyone, minus Thor, bursts out laughing. I can only think of laughing.

"It is not that funny," Thor grumbles.

"Oh but it was, my friend," Fandral chortles. "And you swam and drank in your goblet for the rest of the night like some fish."

"In the coming morning, we found him mindlessly floating in his cup with a blissful, drunken expression on his face. He was okay of course, just spent the few days after that night in his chambers." Volstagg finishes with a smile in his voice.

"I did not drink that much."

"Of course you didn't, Thor. It's not like we didn't measure how much was in that goblet to begin with and afterwards." There's a smug, playful tone in Sif's voice.

"Now what story shall we tell the Princess next?" Fandral asks. "Hum…perhaps one of the times she tricked you with an illusion maiden?"

_One of?_

"Or perhaps a more heroic act from you? When her mare was spooked and ran off, only to have you rescue her?"

"I'd rather that than an embarrassing tale."

_Oh, come on! Where's the fun in that?_

Volstagg, Fandral, and Sif take turns telling the story of how Thor rescued the Princess from her frightened mare. They (plus the silent Hogun from time to time) tell it from their points of view with Thor throwing in his personal thoughts and heroic actions. I'll admit it does sound amazing, like it's out of a romantic movie, but I'm not going to let their sweet stories poison my brain though. How could I simply let their actions (Thor's mostly) go away without a second thought? He took me away from my home at my weakest point to a…God knows where.

…

For the next few hours they continue to tell small funny and embarrassing stories about this Princess. No matter how hard I try to ignore those smiling words and happy tales, I wish I could interact with them. Smiling and laughing with them; it's contagious to hear them.

Yet they dance around the statement – a statement I've been hearing for a while now – that I'm her. I KNOW I'm not. I can't be. There have been multiple times where I played a princess or a queen in movies, but I haven't confused myself with their royal titles. The news said that Thor's an alien – even though he looks like a handsome human – maybe…maybe they confused me for the roles I played? I've seen a race of aliens do that, albeit they were TV shows.

_No, they sound too intelligent to fall for something like that._

A smooth hand slides out from mine and Lady Sif stands up. "Time grows short I'm afraid," she says mournfully.

"Aye, but do not fret we will return in the morn." A romantic voice jokingly purrs.

"Take care how you speak, Fandral," Volstagg chuckles joyfully. "Remember what happened the last time you attempted to win her hand?"

"I do." I can hear the warning tone in Thor's voice.

"I merely jest with her! It was all said in jest!" Fandral exclaims, I can picture him raising his hands in surrender. "Do not worry so, Thor."

"Based on previous experiences I'd say I have every right to worry, my friend."

_Oh gawd, he flirted with his sister, didn't he? Gross._

"Do not worry, lass, the guards will return very soon." Volstagg humbly says, gently patting my still hand.

_When did they leave? THEY'RE actually leaving?! Frigga said someone would always be here with me!_

A cold, sick feeling enters my stomach at the knowing thought of being alone in my world of darkness. I can't see anything beyond my closed eyelids, don't they know that? The fire has died ages ago and the torches remain unlit and the lands outside remain eerily quiet. I had always known that there was life in this room just by the soft sound the guards made and by the sounds outside, and now the guards aren't not here? I'll be here, all alone in my own little world surrounded in darkness, in a place I have no idea about!

_PLEASE tell me that someone is outside my door!_

"Fear not, sister," I hear Thor whisper, "there are guards stationed outside your door."

_He musta read my mind._

Or maybe it was that "twin telepathy" they spoke of earlier.

"We'll be back in the afternoon tomorrow."

They quietly leave the room, their departure noted by the creaking door and the fading footsteps. Despite the comfort of knowing that there are guards outside the door, fear slowly creeps up along the bedsides. Their fingers are long, bony, and dark; eager to take me away into the never ending shadows. I can feel a cool smoothness wrapping around my legs sending goosebumps rising up the length of my body. I can feel my heart pounding violently against my breast. I can hear the heated blood rushing speedily throughout my veins – from my head to my toes. I desperately attempt to move; a finger, my nose, or a twitch of my brow. SOMETHING!

_Please…,_ I inwardly whimper, _please, somebody come here!_

_"Sister," a small boy harshly whispers. A door slowly opens sliding against the smooth, hard floor. His tiny bare feet rapidly pat against the floor. He climbs up on top of the bed; it doesn't even give under his weight._

_"Sister," he softly says again, as his tiny hands are as light as a feather on my shoulder, "what are you doing here? Never you mind, wake-up! There is something I wish to show you! Come on now, wake-up! I wish to show you what Mother has taught me! Then, I'll show you something else. Come on, wake-up!"_

Remarkably, with a twitch of my fingers, a feeling of awareness enters my body. My eyes immediately begin to rapidly move under my eyes. Just to make sure I CAN move, I press my fingers deeper into the clean sheets and curl and stretch out my toes under the covers. I can feel my chest rise and fall in an uneven rhythm. The corners of my lips practically twitch with the need to rise and give a toothy smile. I can hear the crackling of numerous torches.

It's short lived; however, I feel someone hovering above me. It doesn't feel like Frigga nor does it smell like her. It smells…manly; like sweat, heavy musk, and earth.

My eyes flutter open. Each time I blink the image of the male person becomes clearer and clearer; he's tanned skin, fair haired with scruff on his jaw, and is dressed in gold armor. Seeing him more and more, my eyes slowly widen and my mouth opens wide and I take a deep breath only to release a loud, ear-splitting: "WAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

My right hand flies out from underneath the covers and harshly connects with his unsuspecting nose. He lets out a sharp yelp and staggers back as I literally roll out of the bed. More guards swarm around their injured comrade. Glancing around me I search for some type of weapon; I quickly swipe out a heated red fire poker and point it at them all. I panically look at the all. Their faces are both stunned and enraged as the look back at me.

I let out a startled gasp when more guards burst through the doors; jerking my trembling arms towards them. They all point their swords at me, glaring at me.

"What is going on in here?" I hear Odin roars, barreling through the golden mass. When I see him I swallow a large lump in my throat and my stomach tightens in fear. His snow white hair is a stark difference against his black and silver armor and deep red cape. His one visible eye widens; the eye patch hiding the other. Unlike the other men, whose smooth faces are lit by the torches by them, Odin's face is marred with age lines along his forehead and under his eye. If he did not have his beard I'd imagine that there would be more deep lines under that.

Despite his astonished look melting into adoration, I point my "weapon" at him.

"Make way, please, make way!" I hear Frigga breathily say.

"Your Grace, I don't think that…"

She doesn't listen to the guards around her; she pushes her way through until she's standing beside Odin. She lets out a soft cry and quickly covers her mouth. Her hazel brown eyes fill with unshed tears. Her golden brown hair is in an elegant half-up, half-down do and falls gracefully over her shoulders. The long, light purple gown brushes against the floor. Unlike Odin, her age isn't as obvious.

Frigga goes to step forward and I swipe the poker at her. Odin's hand fluidly goes in front of her; stopping her from advancing towards me.

_Smart man._

Through the thick, tense air and the rushing blood in my head, I hear thundering footfalls storming down the hall towards the people filled door.

"What, in the name of Odin, is going on here?!" Thor roars anger in his words.

He steps through the flood of guards to stand near Odin, glancing at him before his eyes widen when he spots me. Thor hasn't changed since I last saw him; blonde shoulder length hair with a matching beard, unnaturally cobalt blue eyes, and a handsome young face. I'm rather stunned with myself that I'm not more frightened to see him nor am I relieved to see him.

_He has my color eyes._

Even though he was the one that took me away, I leave my weapon pointed at Frigga. She was the only one brave enough—eager enough to come up to me.

"You're awake." All of this rage and anger leaves his face and body as he looks at me. Much like Frigga, he goes to take a step forward and Odin stops him like he stopped Frigga.

I wave the poker between the three of them; torn between who I should leave it at.

"Lower your swords." Odin orders, staring at me with an unwavering gaze.

Without any questions the guards lower their weapons – swords or spears or axes, all elegantly deadly in their own right. I've never seen anything like them before. More fear wraps around me in a thick blanket.

"Leave us." He sends out his second command in a low, threatening voice. I slowly turn my weapon towards him; seeing him as the greater threat now. All sorts of scenarios run throughout my head until I'm nauseated – and I swallow back a tickle in the back of my throat – and I try to see if I can work them out.

_Thor could be my greatest fight. Odin and Frigga are old – I can take 'em._ My grip tightens around the poker. _Stab 'em in the neck._

"Are you sure, Your Grace?" asks the guard that I punched, a glimmer of hate shining in his eyes and blood staining his upper lip and nose. It's his fault! How else was I supposed to react with a strange man hovering over me?

"Leave." Odin simply says.

The guards reluctantly leave the room with their eyes boring into me. Holding my weapon of choice close to my chest I try to ignore their burning stares and wish I had one of their weapons. They look like they'd do more damage.

The double doors slide shut with a small click. Their footsteps don't sound down the hall like they normally do. _They're waiting outside the door. …Damn._

Frigga softly says the Princess' name again with a smile on her face. I instantly point the poker at her with a fierce glare.

"I don't know who that is, but that is NOT my name!" I growl at her.

"Of course you are," she tries to reason, voice gentle and full of love, yet she doesn't step forward. "That is your name and you are my daughter."

"I already HAVE a mother, thank you very much, and her name is Rosabella." My gaze burns when I look at Odin. "And I already HAVE a father; too, his name is Abraham." When I look at Thor my glare intensifies. "I'm an only child. NONE of you are related to me."

"Sweetheart," Frigga starts but stops when Odin cuts her off.

He whispers in her ear – his voice is so soft it's lost to me. Defeat crosses her soft, aging face and her shoulders lower in depression.

Glancing at Thor during their exchange it seems like he's torn between saying something or not; almost unsure of what he wants to say. His azure eyes flicker left and right and glance at me quickly, before searching for words in the air again. I notice that his lips slowly move; too slow to know what he's saying to himself.

When Odin turns back towards me I can't completely read his expression – it's cold and commanding. "You WILL remain here for the night," he tells me, "and you WILL join us to break our fast in the morning. You will, also, remain here until it's safe for you to return to Midgard."

"What?" I ask in astonishment, eyes wide in shock.

"Father?" Thor asks, sounding just as dumbfounded as me.

Odin continues as if Thor and I aren't confused by this exchange, "There will be guards posted outside this room – the door and others will be patrolling outside the window you see there." He gestures to the tall window behind me. I don't turn around to look at it, in fear that they'll jump me.

I struggle to find the right words throughout all my jumbled thoughts. "Wh…You can't do that!" I shout in bewilderment. "This is KIDNAPPING! And if you don't return me back home you're in for a world of hell!"

"You are MY daughter!" All patience is now lost with Odin and I stagger back from the sheer ferocity in his voice. "You were taken from US and now you are home, and you will stay here."

_These people are crazy._ I think to myself.

_Look at them though_ , says another voice deep in my subconscious, _can you not see that they love you? That Thor does look a lot like you in some ways, and he does take after Odin in some respects by the looks of it. Don't banish the thought._

Weakly shaking my head, I tell him in a terrified tone of voice, "No…." He can't be serious, can he? "I…I am NOT your daughter! I don't even know her!" I desperately look at Frigga and Thor, seeking help from them – any help will do really.

"You are our daughter and sister to Thor. You will remember all of that you are and what you represent to this family and this realm. You must trust us."

"Trust you?! How can I trust you when you have ASLAN" – I angrily wave the poker over to Thor – "over there take me away, forcefully by the way, and now you're treating me like a prisoner?" All the fear I felt melts away to rage.

"Aslan?" I hear Thor mutter to himself. From the corner of my eye, I see him look at me. "I do not under—"

"You are not a prisoner," Frigga reassures me with a kind and loving tone of voice, "it is merely for your protection should those who have taken you away from us return."

"Then let me go home." I beg her, eyes pleading. "They've already found your daughter, they didn't find me."

"This is your home. And we now know what they look like and what powers they possess," Odin says. He turns around with his cape swirling about him and walks to the closed doors. "Tomorrow afternoon you will be returned to your own chambers in the High Tower."

My grip on the poker loosens, but I quickly grasp it with white knuckles. I watch as Frigga and Thor reluctantly follow him.

"ODIN!" I roar, marching up to him, he doesn't turn around. "ODIN, _portami a casa! O giuro che ti ammazzo, figlio di un CAGNA!_ " With the final word of the threat and insult, I reel my right arm back and viciously stab the wooden door with the cooper fire poker. Gasping, I jump back when it is actually deep within the door. I'm stunned by the strength I've possessed to do that – anger or no anger, adrenaline or not – its half way stab through massive door.

"Her strength is returning." I hear Frigga mutter with a soft and grateful tone.

I frantically try to pull and wiggle my only means of defense out of the door. Hand combat fighting be damned! Those guys have weapons that can hack me in two!

I let out a yelp when I'm suddenly on my ass and the copper clangs loudly on the floor besides me. Ignoring that dull throb, the hole in the door, and the chunk of wooden from the door, I scramble to the farthest corner in the room and sit there. I focus solely on the light coming from the guards outside it, for they took the only light available with them.

There isn't a moon out tonight and I foolishly can't light a fire.

Desperately, I try not to think of the creeping hands in the dark reaching towards me again. Weakly kicking them away and lamely swinging at them, I keep them at bay.

_It'll be morning soon,_ I tell myself. _Just focus on the light outside the door and you'll be safe. You'll be safe…. You'll be safe…. You'll be safe…._

All the adrenaline is slowly wearing off; thus, my eyes grow heavy and my body slowly goes limp. The shadowy hands slither up my legs in a cold grasp. I can't fight them off anymore no matter how hard I try to focus on the light.

_"Don't worry, sister," sounds a boy, "I'll protect you."_

I fall into a dreamless sleep.

…

Waking up, as all mornings are for me, is difficult despite what happened last night. I'm wrapped up in warm, soft blankets on a warm and soft bed that smells so comforting. Through my perfume, from Stark's party, it simply smells…good. Familiar even; it brings a weak smile to my face. My hair isn't even in my face. Yet, even though I'm warm and content, my hand is curled tightly around something cold and hard.

My eyes flutter open and the haziness of sleep slowly goes away. They widen when I see that I'm back in bed. Breathing heavily I stumble and scramble away from it; ignoring the goosebumps that rise on my skin. I still hold onto the poker throughout it all, clutching it to my chest. My back is pressed flush against the stone fireplace as I stare at the bed.

_Someone came in here last night…and they…carried me to bed._ I attempt to register the thought; not understanding why someone would do that.

The happily singing birds break my attention to them. I quietly and nervously walk up to the tall glass doors. Unlike the wooden ones, these don't make a sound as I open them. A new breath of life enters my lungs as the cool breeze brushes over my skin; wrapping around me and delicately playing with strands of my hair. I walk out onto the balcony smiling one of my grand smiles and rest my hands on the railing, letting the morning rays seep into me.

The gentle wind continues to play with my long hair as I look out to the golden skyline. There are towers of all sorts made of a dazzling gold. Their odd and peculiar shapes are of something from a fairytale book or of a sci-fi movie. Gazing up at the blue sky I see, through the white clouds, what appear to be the outlines of large and breathtakingly beautiful planets and their small pretty moons. In all of the wonder and magic I forget my loathing and my captors.

"Wow…."

_This sight puts New York and Paris to shame._

Tiny flying birds cross my line of vision. Their flying dance lowers and lowers happily to the smaller buildings below. Tendrils of smoke rise from cozy cottages. Little boys and little girls laugh and giggle below and grown men and women watch them. The paths they take are all different and I'm left wondering where they're going atop their horses. There are large stretches of green or brown fields behind the homes as they grow their crops with oxen pulling plows with their masters helping them.

_They don't seem like monsters._

"Caw!"

"Yipe!" I jump and twirl away at the sudden sound – pointing my poker at it. I lower it when I see it's only a crow. "What?" My brows scrunch together and I tilt my head to the side.

It hops towards me and gently _caws_ again.

"No!" I step back and point at it with my finger.

It stops and tilts its head.

I pull my hand away slightly at its obvious confused expression and intellect. Glancing at the doors I note the curved horn of a guard's helmet. Looking at the large black bird, I hesitantly take a small step towards it with an outstretch hand.

It doesn't move as it waits for me. Its black eyes looking back up into mine.

I gently pat it on the head, muttering, "Good, crow. Smart, crow."

"Caw!"

And, just as it came, it left.

Seconds later, when I enter the bedroom again, glaring at the bed, the door creaks open. A pale-skinned young woman with her long, honey brown hair braided down her back and her body hides under a long, pale rosy pink, two-shouldered Grecian dress enters the room. I spot the small golden embroidery clamped on her right shoulder and right hip. Her large chestnut brown eyes, surrounded by black lashes, widen when she raises her head to see me.

"You're awake!" she shouts, cheeks flaming red, and falls to the ground with her nose touching it. "Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not know you were yet awake!"

"I'm sorry?" I raise a brow at her behavior, holding the dark poker to my chest.

"You mustn't apologize, My Liege, for it is I who must be blamed. I came in unannounced when I should not have done so. PLEASE forgive me!"

I lower my arms to my sides at her strained voice. "Get up and I just might."

She looks up at me with tears shining in her eyes. "I beg your pardon?" she sniffles.

"Get up," I walk up to her and hold out my left hand, "and I'll forgive you. If there is anything to forgive."

Her tiny and smooth hands tremble as they're placed in my own. Slowly she rises to her feet, refusing to meet my eyes. I do not let go of her hands.

"What is your name?" I carefully ask in a nonthreatening tone, trying to get her to look at me. She seems like very young and very nice women.

"Gersemi, Your Grace," she timidly says.

That name, though foreign, rings a tiny and distant bell in my mind. I've never heard that name before and I've never seen her either; yet, I know that name.

"Gersemi," I easily say; the odd sounding name flows off of my tongue easily.

"Yes," her eyes, now empty of tears, flicker up to mine, "it means—"

"Jewel…, treasure…, gem."

_How do I know this?_

"Yes," she says giddily, smiling widely and looking up at me.

My smile, small and loving, quickly melts away as dark thoughts enter my mind. She comes in here unannounced, begging for forgiveness, and she gives me the title of royalty? I'm soon embodying a grand ruler as I glare down at this pretty and meek girl – who appears to be the same age as me. My hand tightly clutches onto hers. All the joy breaks away and pain etches across her face.

"What are you doing here, really?" I snarl at her, jerking my arm back towards me and her in the process. "Tell me the truth or I SWEAR I'll slit that pretty neck of yours. If you even THINK about screaming, I'll stab this" – I jerk up the copper fire poker, so that its point is hovering above her wide eye – "so deep in your eye you'll die where you stand." I don't mean any of this of course; I'm acting. I've threatened people far worse in movies than I'm currently doing to this girl. The people here seem to react well to this deep, dark, threatening tone of voice if someone wants them to obey them.

"Please, Your Grace," she whimpers, lowering her watery gaze to the floor.

"Look at me!" I rattle her as I harshly growl, glancing at the closed door briefly. When she looks up at me I ignore the guilt gnawing inside me. There's no time for that! I tell myself, _She needs to tell me what she's doing here and who sent her._

"Now tell me what you're REALLY doing here."

Gersemi's shaking like a leaf now. She looks left and right, her eyes searching for an answer but ends up empty. Tears fall from her eyes one by one as she looks up me. If I look carefully in them I can see my reflection. Me and me alone. As threatening as I am now to her, it's me in a way. Craving for all the answers I'm being deprived of and seeing one way to get them. She isn't telling me something and she's afraid of me.

_No…. She's torn. Torn between telling the Princess the truth and keeping the secret. I see that now. She doesn't see me. She sees her._

"I…I was told by the AllFather to fetch you, so that you may break your fast." She weakly mutters, lowering her eyes when she finishes. "I only thought you'd still be sleeping, which is why I did not announce myself to you."

"Odin sent you?" My nails press deeper into her soft flesh.

She flinches, but nods timidly.

I throw her hands down in disgust. Walking away from her, my glare is never ending. "Get out," I force out between clenched teeth.

"Pardon?" Gersemi looks up at me, confusion swirling in her eyes.

"Get out!" I pick up a random object on the mantle and throw it at her. She yelps as it shatters beside her. She scrambles to get up, tripping over her long skirt. "GET OUT!" I roar, feeling real anger and real rage, and reel my arm back and throw the fire poker at the door. Just as Gersemi closes the other door it pierces it. I can hear her sobbing down the hall.

Breathing heavily, I rip the poker from the other door and throw it to the ground. Grunting and groaning, I shove a massive wooden armoire to rest in front of the door followed by a matching wooden dresser. I move everything expect the bed in front of the door and lock the glass balcony's doors.

_They are NOT getting in!_

I pace up and down the room trying, and failing, to calm myself. I swing my weapon left and right in front of me vaguely proud that I can appear threatening with it and am strong enough to stab a thick wooden door. With all that pride and rage, guilt washes in with it. It's sating inside me until I'm forced to squash it down. Looking around I spot other sorts of artillery – projectiles mostly.

Walking between the bed and fireplace again, something crackles under my foot. The sharp, jagged edges don't cut my foot, to which I'm very grateful. I slowly pull my foot back and wiggle it to rid of the small shards that are pressed into my foot. I carefully lower to my knees to examine what it is I exactly thrown at Gersemi. I begin to piece the pieces together; lining up the grooves and odd lines.

"It's a…jar." I whisper, my breath coming out softly as to not disturb the petite bowl. It's small, barely fitting in the palm of my hand, and made of porcelain. On the light pink stone are the gold lines and shapes. Ever so slowly, I raise it up to eye level barely breathing.

"It seems…familiar…somehow." I carefully rotate my arm to look at the sides. With my arm in its right position, I (somehow) make out a single word: light.

A booming knock has me gasping and bolt up, spinning around to face the blockaded door. The small jar shatters into finer pieces behind me at my feet.

"OPEN THIS DOOR!" Odin's voice scares me to the core.

I don't let him know it though. "NO!"

"If you do not open this door at this moment I'll—"

"Odin," Frigga's sweet and gentle voice stops him. I hear her whisper, "I know this pains you, my King, but you must keep in mind that she does not remember us. You cannot treat her as a prisoner and threaten her. Despite what you have seen, she's scared I know. Our son knows this, as well. We must tread carefully with her. Remember?"

_Listen to the lady, Odin._

"What would you have me say to this…difficult and scared girl?"

I quirk a brow at that. _Scared, yes. Difficult, hardly given the circumstances._

"Speak to her as if she's a little girl – gently."

I hear him take a deep breath and he forces out, "It would give us all great…pleasure…if you'd open the door and join us to break our fast."

"I'm not hungry!" I shout angrily. I blink owlishly out the door with a dawning realization. This dialogue reminds me of the Disney classic _Beauty and the Beast_. In spite of the seriousness of this conversation, I give a one-sided grin.

There's a break between Odin and I. Frigga is a queen and with how she speaks with "Odin AllFather" I've gathered that he's a king. As a king no one has given this much of a hard time before. _Maybe his sons though?_

"Please," Odin forces out.

"Why are you so bent on me having breakfast with you? For all I know you plan to kill me as soon as I walk out that door. After all, I did punch a guard, threaten you,"

"She threatened you?" Thor softly says.

"And stabbed a door, and scared a servant girl and stabbed the other door." I gesture to the other hole in the door, even though he can't see my action.

My arms instantly rise when I see Odin's only visible eye. "You are who we say you are," he calmly tells me. I can sense the mix of anger and longing in his voice; he's desperate for me to believe them.

"I am NOT your daughter. I am NOT your son's sister. I am NOT your Princess of Asgard!" I yell patience all gone with this man and his family, the dark tip of my weapon pointing directly at his good eye.

"If you'd simply join us, you'll see who you truly are."

"I know who I am!" The tiny hairs on my arms and neck begin to stand on end.

The room begins to darken as desperation takes its hold on me. I'm desperate for them to hear me, see me for me. I have only ever heard of this girl since I've arrived; saying that I'm her and that Tessa doesn't exist. Not truly. Yet, no one seems bent on giving me actual answers.

"I am Tessa Rosalin Maberry of New Jersey and New York! Daughter of Abraham and Rosabella Maberry! I am an actress and singer and dancer – a triple threat in today's society – and former model! I bring joy, kindness, bravery, honor, and hope to those I meet! Though others claim I am a princess for such things, I am NOT actually that. So don't you DARE tell me you know who I am, Odin AllFather, when you are so stuck on your lost daughter!"

A roar of life of blazing colors around the room causes me to scream and whirl around to face the burning fireplace. Rain showers down onto the earth outside and lightning flashes in the darkness, when just moments before it was bright and clear. Panting from the rush of adrenaline, I see my breath in small white puffs.

"You may think you know who you are, but we know the truth."

I look back to Odin with my arms at my sides, hand clenched tightly around the poker.

"We cannot merely explain it in words to you." Frigga sounds close beside him. "Please, if you come with us we can show you. We can tell you how THAT has happened."

"I'm not hungry." I tell them both standing strong, through my shaking exterior, in my position not to leave this room until I'm released back to…Midgard. To my home.

"If you do not eat with us now, we'll see to it that you'll starve each and every day you refuse. Until you wish to dine with us."

"Then, let's play a game, AllFather." I coolly start, "Let us see how long I can go without food. I must warn you, though, as someone who takes her acting career very seriously, I've gone to extreme lengths with my roles. I have not purposely starved myself for Hollywood – I would never do that. I've merely eaten smaller amounts of food to know what a starving young mother would feel; sacrificing her well-being for her children. And I've went a long while going without much. This, your threat, is nothing."

"You ate smaller rations then. Now you'll get nothing – no food or drink. You are not playing a "role" for the amusement of others. This is happening in the here and now with no way out. You will submit and you will see who you really are."

"We'll see."

The hairs on my arms and neck slowly fall, and the roaring fire seems to lessen in its intensity with it, as the Royal Family leaves. The sky doesn't brighten though.

Through the small opening in the door I see Thor glance my way; I glare at him. Hating him more and more for the situation I'm in. If I could, I'd stab the door again or at least try to get to him. Only I know the guards will kill me if I do – and I have too much to live for.

…

The days stretch on and on. Too long for my liking. In those long days, I've been kept and locked up in this room. Each day I refused all pleas and commands to join anyone for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

This day, much like the rest, slowly drags on and the sky is blue by midday. The sky grows differing shades of pink, purple, and orange with the planets and moons becoming more noticeable in the sky with a splatter of stars. Unfortunately, I'm unable to enjoy the bright sky; I'm still in my room and my stomach is eating itself out. I bite back the low groans of pain and discomfort all day, gently rubbing it to ease the pain somehow.

_I will not give in,_ I tell myself. _Show them that you are who you are – Tessa Rosalin Maberry!_

When I'm not hiding my groans, I'm panting. Trying to catch my breath and ignore the delicious smells of food wafting through the air. I listen to the guards outside; noting when the leave and when they return to the door. They change their post every three hours. The ones at the door don't wait for the others to come and relieve them. _Dumbasses._

Quickly and quietly I move the furniture away from the door when I hear the guards leave and their footsteps are lost in the halls.

_There will always be someone to protect me._ I roll my eyes at the words Frigga said. The only ones that can protect me aren't here right now; I'm completely on my own.

By the time the furniture is moved away and a new set of guards are at the door.

I sit at the edge of the bed, staring at the door, with the cool dark metal in my lap. The purpose of getting food causes my stomach to growl even more. I move back and cross my legs on the bed when I feel the shadows crawling in from the corners of the room. Thankfully, they stay away from the light of the fire; yet, they creep along the perimeter.

My mind wanders in my waiting. I think of all of the roles I've played, the people I've met, and of my family and friends. I think of anything but the gnawing hunger eating me alive. The burning wood is starting to smell very good. I dully look at the bright, dancing flames. Quickly, I shake my head muttering to myself how ridiculous my thoughts of eating cooking wood are.

I'm broken out of my trance when I hear thumping, rhythmic footfalls. Leaving the safety of the bed, I quickly and silently walk up to one of the holes in the door. Pressing myself flush against the door I attempt to look for the high, golden horns.

Seeing that it's clear, I slowly open the door; cringing when it creaks. I only open it far enough to squeeze through it. Even though I'm holding my qualified weapon, I have to press my hands against my breasts in the small space. The smaller the space to squeeze through, the less creaking it'll make. I urge the door to be quiet; shushing it like a child sneaking out.

_Crap…._

I realize that I don't know which way to go. Looking left and right, I choose a random direction.

_"This way,"_ I hear a small, child-like voice whisper in my ear.

Biting back a squeal of surprise, I jump away from the small boy's voice, rubbing my ear to ease the shivers. I shake away the terrified feeling. Looking to the right, I see a tiny hand urging me to come around the corner.

_"Quick, this way!"_ he whispers again.

Despite all the scary movies I've seen, despite the voice screaming in my head, I slowly follow the small hand. It seems my legs move of their own accord as something tugs at my chest to follow him. My feet don't make a sound on the hard ground. I loosely hold onto my metal weapon.

Rounding the corning, I see a small ghostly boy running down the hall. He isn't transparent or going through walls and pillars or sounding like clanging chains or shimmering like some fairy reject. He's a noticeable bright figure in the long, dark hallway. He spins around, hands cupped around his mouth.

_"Quickly, this way! I want to show you a new trick Mother taught me,"_ he says softly yet his voice reaches my ears.

I can't stop myself as I let a smile cross my face and I jog after him. We run down the halls, avoiding guards, and stifling our giggles. There are torches along the walls, but they do not deter the ethereal feel of the little boy.

"Where are you taking me?" I whisper to him, looking down at his black hair.

Before my very eyes, the small boy grows taller. Only a few inches, but he still grows nonetheless. His smooth, small fingers find mine and he gently holds my hand. _"We have to be quick,"_ he says, _"I want to show you before someone finds us."_

"You're taking me to see the monsters, aren't you?" What causes me to ask this and with such fear no less?

He grins up at me. _"Don't worry, I'll protect you!"_

"I'm older, I should protect you!"

_"You're correct, but I'm a man!"_ his tiny chest swells with pride.

"You're a boy. Just like Thor's a boy!" My hand tightens around him.

_Don't go,_ my smarter half tells me. _You're following someone who's dead – a ghost! Don't be the stupid blonde with big boobs from all those horror movies you watch and make fun of! This is BAD news._

_But he's so cute…. And…I'm talking to him like I know him._

_"I am NOT!"_ He angrily pouts and stomps his foot. A hot blush dusts across his pale face when he realizes his action and he glares ahead of himself. _"And Thor's an idiot."_

"Don't talk ill don't about our brother." _Our brother?_ "And we don't need to go – we SHOULDN'T go! Mother and Father told us we can't go down there."

_"It won't take long, I promise."_

I don't know why – I really don't – but my legs continue to walk with the boy. I can't even pull my hand away from his despite his light hold around my fingers. Though I'm very aware of the situation I'm in, and very afraid of what may happen to me, I'm not…highly terrified. It's weird; I shouldn't follow this ghost boy, yet I can't stop myself from following him. The age old saying: "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfactory brought it back," comes to mind. And this little boy, with his pale skin and black hair and ethereal glow, doesn't seem like an evil spirit. Surely, he'd be monstrous looking if he were. His eyes would be a demonic red too, wouldn't they? Not a dazzling emerald green.

"So long as we return to our rooms before someone realizes where we're going, I'm fine. Are you sure everyone's asleep?" I ask in a small voice that doesn't even sound like my own.

_"I'm positive they're all asleep; it's late. You need not worry, sister,"_ he says, smiling up at me, _"I'll protect you."_

We're standing before a single wooden door with black metal bars going a crossed all over it, forming small squares. I watch the door slowly and soundlessly opens with fearful eyes. There aren't any torches or windows in the room; just an ongoing darkness that seems to stretch on for forever. I tighten my grip around his hand as I ignore my racing heart. _He'll protect you…._

The little boy says a word – it's a single, foreign word that rings a bell to me – and a small orb of light blooms from my chest. Looking down I'm nearly blinded by the white light. There is a small bulb of light from my key necklace. It wraps around us; the boy is nearly lost in the bright glow.

We walk in the room together and my right hand suddenly feels lighter.

Even though it doesn't stretch far, this light around us chases away the monsters in the dark eager to rip us apart. We're a single dot in the darkness.

I look left and right as we walk down the long corridor, vaguely aware of the constant drip of water and the groans of pain. I only see the outlines curled, shivering, and/or still figures on cots. The air in here is stale and reeks of mold, urine, feces, and decaying flesh. If we were to stop and watch and listen, maybe I could imagine what these people are put through.

_"I wish we could see them,"_ whispers the little boy.

"I don't." Looking to my right I see what appears to be a man in the corner of his cage. He's shaking uncontrollably and he's muttering something incoherently under his breath so fast I can't understand him. I stand still and hold the boy's hand when the man raises his head. My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes widen when I see his face. It's mangled with fresh, deep, bleeding cuts that drip into his red fearful eyes and abused mouth, which appears to be bleeding just as much. In all of the gore and devastation his face has been through, I see the hope and fear etched across it. He opens his mouth wide as if to scream only no sound comes out. Squinting my eyes, I quickly look away from him and swallow back the bile crawling up my throat.

_His tongue has been cut off._

_"This way, sister."_ The little boy tugs my hand to follow him. _"There is one monster I wish to desperately see!"_

I see a large amount of light ahead of us; illuminating the farthest corner and the neighboring cells. I lean forward to see who is in the bright cell. As we grow closer and closer to the cell – ignoring all sense of danger and terror – my left hand grows lighter and lighter. I don't even look down at my very empty hands, for they mean nothing to me now. I want—NEED to see this monster. He, or she, can't be like that one with the marred face.

The light that has been wrapped around me either fades or is simply lost as I step into the cell's light. There is a man in there – a long stretch of a man with unruly black hair and sickly pale skin. He's leaning back on a chair with a bored expression on his face as he stares up at the ceiling. He looks towards me and his dark green eyes gain a glimmer of recognition, which is quickly squashed and turns to nothingness. He slowly sits up, his eyes never leaving mine. His movements are slow and calculating as he walks; much like the large cats I've seen at the zoo. There are steps leading up to this glass cage, but even without the elevation I'd still have to look up at him when he stops. I try to cease my trembling or at the very least make it seem it's the cold affect me and not him.

For a long expanse of time neither of us says anything. As he is studying me, I'm suddenly aware of my used and rumpled pajamas.

His sudden, mocking, evil smile and half laugh cause me to stand more alert – tense with the tremors. I try to tighten my grip on the hard weapon I once had realizing with a dawning fear that I've lost it and the little boy isn't with me anymore.

My chest rises and falls with ragged breaths when I see the sick amusement in his eyes.

"And so the Lost Princess of Asgard has come to visit the Traitor." His voice smooth and accented much like the others, but holds a form of evil mockery to it.

I try to speak through the forming lump in my throat. I can't. My lips simply move with what I want to say. In all of the fear I'm facing and with what crawls towards me – even in the light of his cage – I do not show it to me. At least I can say I tried if he sees the fear in my eyes.

"What is the matter, Princess?" he asks in fake concern. "You seem frightened."

Finally, after swallowing the large and uncomfortably tight lump in my throat, I breathlessly say, "I'm not a princess."

A twisted smile stretches across his thin lips. "Oh, but you are wrong, Princess, oh so, wrong." He tells me in a soft, mocking tone as he shakes his head. "For you see, you are the daughter of Odin and sister of Thor. I can see it in you, as soon will others if they have not already." His smile broadens. "How does it feel to know that your entire life has been taken away from you and your existence on Midgard has been all a lie?"

**~ Midgard ~**

Rosa wakes up with a jolt, her brown eyes wide and searching for something in the dark. She lays awake in her bed, waiting for something. As her eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness, she grows aware of how cold her back and feet are. Hesitantly she rises, muttering her husband's name as she looks around their bedroom.

She slips out of the large bed and slides her feet into her slippers and shrugs on her fluffy robe. Quietly, she walks down the hall. A smile makes its way across her tanned and finely-aged face upon seeing the outline of Abe's large and lean frame by their daughter's old room.

"Abe," she whispers, sliding her hand up his shoulders, "what are you doing here?"

"Buddy's in her room again," he softly rumbles. He brings his large arm back to wrap it around wife's waist and bring her to stand besides him, and stares with tired hazel eyes at the old Golden and two German dogs. "And so are Rozzy and Wolf."

Rosa stares at their three dogs, noting how Buddy is laying on the bed and how he's curled up at the foot of the bed and snoring loudly. Rozzy and Wolf remained on the floor, but are on either side of the bed.

"Odd," she whispers, leaning her weary head on him, "I wonder why."

"There's something wrong with Tessa." Hate and rage begins to seep into his words.

"I know," she says calming, but does remain deathly concerned for their daughter.

"Yet those…agents," he spat the word out like it was poison, "tell us to do NOTHING! They don't tell us anything as to WHY we can't do anything and attempted to hide what the papers said. We both tried to call her and NOTHING."

"Shhh, remember what the doctor said."

"I don't CARE what the doctor said!" Abe rips away from her and his shouting finally startled the dogs awake. "NOTHING like this has ever happened before, Rosa! Our little girl was taken from her home, coughing up blood, from SOMEONE! Madison wouldn't do it, those two are like sisters. I don't know if it could be someone from that party she went to or some crazy fan that went too far. I don't know what to think! I just know I want our little girl back." His voice catches as tears make way down his aged face.

"Shh, shh." Rosa walks up to him and cradles his face, gently kissing him and holding him in a close embrace.

Abraham, for all that he is, is a very open, stubborn, and passionate man. He has always been such; even after his accident and as he grows older. It was the fiery passion that she fell in love with – his stubbornness, too. Not all men are like this, for that she feels lucky to have him. There are times where she swore he is more Italian than her; talking loudly and waving his arms around like a mad man. And always so open and honest like a book no matter how hard he tried to hide what he was feeling.

"I'm scared for her, too, _il mio amore_. But those…agents refused to tell us anything other than not to worry or to interfere. They haven't thought of the tabloids though." Rosa remembers seeing the scared photo of her daughter's face on _People_ magazine after she flipped the car over. There was another as she left the party in the arms of the known Captain America. Her lips were an unnatural shade of red and her bright blue eyes were cloudy and dazed. Rosa closes her misty eyes to rid the images.

Abe tightly holds his wife to him, blinking back the tears that clouded his vision. "She's never leaving this house again when she comes back."

"You said that when she was three years old." Rosa doesn't smile; much like now, when he said it, it wasn't favorable.

"I mean it now." Abe can still hear her tiny fearful screams and Wolfheart's protective snarls and viscous barking even now. If he listens very carefully on quiet nights, he can make out the sounds of flesh being torn apart. He can still feel the unyielding door under his arms and against his shoulder as he fought against it. His heart still twists and turns at the memory. "She isn't leaving. I won't let her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: How's THAT for an ending! Huh?! What did I tell you? A double cliffhanger; Tessa finally met Loki only it was the beginning of their conversation and something has happened to her when she was a child to Rosa and Abe. What though? Hmmmm….**
> 
> **With this chapter comes some bad-ish news. I haven't completed Chapter Twelve yet; I wanted to post this New Year's Day to kick start the new year. I normally write a chapter ahead of the time so that I may give you all a sneak-peak of what is to come. I have to finish Chapter Twelve AND Thirteen, so it may be awhile until I post the next chapter.**
> 
> **I apologize for that and for any mistakes you may have seen in this chapter.**
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:***  
> **  
>  Loki- 14  
> Steve- 10
> 
> Next time on _Princess of Asgard_ :
> 
> An image comes to my mind at his name: a tall hunched man with sneer on his pointed face, dressed in black, green, and gold. On top of his heard rests a large golden helmet with equally large curved horns. His dark green, beady eyes hold a glimmering gleam of knowing and mischievous-ness. Below his name is…
> 
> "You're the God of Lies and Mischief." I whisper in disbelief, not hearing him completely as I look him up and down.
> 
> **…**
> 
> His smirk does nothing to bring the playful gleam back in his eyes. I tighten my arms around me in an attempt to keep out the chill from crawling up my spine at his broken expression.
> 
> **…**
> 
> "You are a GODDESS! …."
> 
> **…**
> 
> "What are you doing here?" Thor's voice suddenly booms off the silent walls.
> 
> **Next chapter's title:  
> ** Worse than Mere Monsters


	12. Worse than Mere Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some are worse than monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I can FINALLY post this chapter! After rereading it and after my beta read it and gave me the go ahead, I'm posting it dammit! I think I'm down to once a month updates now, guys/gals, like Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. That show has gotten AWESOME by the way.**
> 
> **Time for thanks! I've gotten a few new kudos: MsLokiLaufeyson, guests , and icantouchthestars. With giving me kudos, MsLokiLaufeyson has also left me a vote. With each vote I'm closer to the absolute outcome of this story.**
> 
> **I'm giving a special shout out to Kivutar and mutantinthetardis. Kivutar left a comment on my archive account that had me rewrite the whole scene regarding Thor and Tessa, which I hope you all like. I think it's better than what I originally had. Mutantinthetardis left several suggestions in the comments of archive.**
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:***  
> **  
>  Loki- 18  
> Steve- 10
> 
> *****IMPORTANT NOTICE!*** On February 14th, 2014 at 11:59pm (USA, Eastern coast time) all votes will stop being accounted for. Those of you who have NOT voted and you have a preference; please vote before the given date.**
> 
>   **Now, please read, enjoy, and review.**

I glower up at the smiling man; my face an absolute scowl. "My life has NOT been a lie! I can return at any time I want to…Midgard." I cross my arms under my chest with my chin held up high. I heard the others say that name before, right?

"Then, what are you doing here so late at night? Surely, you aren't here to visit me?"

"Oh course not! I was looking for the kitchen."

The man cocks his head to the side a small bit and raises a dark brow, a cocky smirk on his thin lips. "As you can see this isn't the kitchens, dear Princess. So, why are you here?" He spreads his hands out in display. "Why haven't you left when you saw the endless darkness and tortured souls?"

I blink up at him. My shoulders slack and I look around the endless darkness. Fear creeps up along my back with the knowing that there really are monsters in this place. At the very end of the stretching room is a small speck of flickering light. I could run towards it, while fighting off the shadowy hands and not look back at…. What's his name?

Looking back at his eager, mischievous green eyes, I ask, "Who are you?"

"I asked you a question first."

"That doesn't mean anything." I shake my head at him, finding it absurd that he'll use that type of childish logic.

"With something as valuable as my name, it does mean something. Now answer mine and I'll answer yours."

I glare up at him; hoping my steely gaze will render him to give me answers. His cocky ass smirk doesn't give under my gaze and neither does his mocking eyes. He reminds me of my cousins – arrogant and all-knowing.

"Fine!" I give, lightly stomping my foot. "My curiosity got the best of me and I couldn't leave until I saw what was in this cage." I gesture to his illuminated and poorly furnished cell. "Yours is the only one that has light. Now answer my question!"

_Could he see the little boy or the light coming from my necklace?_

"You've only answered one of my questions, Princess. There are two before that one."

"I've already told you! My life isn't a lie and when I find out a way to return I will without a backwards glance." I notice a fleeting emotion cross his green eyes, before he schools his expression. I walk up to him; ignoring the screaming smarter half of myself saying not to. "I am NOT Odin's daughter or Thor's sister."

"And if you are? What will you do? Odin will not let you go."

"That's a new question. Answer mine and I'll answer yours." I have to ignore the bite in his tone and the disdain I feel gnawing in me. He's asking so many questions that involve me being someone I'm not – living a life I've never had – like the rest of them.

"My apologies, Princess," he gives me a mock bow, his eyes never leaving mine. "My name is Loki."

An image comes to my mind at his name: a tall hunched man with a sneer on his pointed face, dressed in black, green, and gold. On top of his head rests a large golden helmet with equally large curved horns. His dark green, beady eyes hold a glimmering gleam of knowing and mischievous-ness. Below his name is…

"You're the God of Lies and Mischief." I whisper in disbelief, not hearing him completely as I look him up and down. A tight and uncomfortable ball gathers in my stomach and the lump from earlier returns.

There's another glimmer of an unreadable emotion in his eyes, before it's gone in the blink of an eye.

"You've heard of me?" Loki purrs, his smirk widening with glee.

Swallowing the lump in my throat and ignoring the ball in my gut, I remind myself that I've faced far worse than this guy. "You're in a mythology book – along with everyone else most likely. If I do say, the picture of you in the book is pretty accurate." I tell him a white lie. The angular face with its noticeable high cheekbones, green eyes, black hair, and the mischievous persona are true; however, he doesn't seem…evil. Intimidating as all sorts of hell, but not evil.

If I listen closely I can see something beyond his twisted and playful words. Beneath his eyes are dark, droopy bags and he speaks in such a way it's possible that he hasn't had a decent conversation in a while. His proud stance almost seems forced, too, as if he's hurting.

I remember seeing something in the passage next to his picture. A name and a relation. "If you are the son of Odin—"

"Am not!" His eyes are suddenly ablaze with a mix of hate and rage.

I step back at the force of his words and continue as if I hadn't heard him, "Then why are you in here?" I make my point by gesturing to the rows of inmates and dankness. For someone of royalty – even if it's not by blood – I'd accept better arrangements.

Loki's eyes flicker up and down as he looks at me. His hateful expression melts to show a glimpse of disappointment, before it changes to an unreadable façade. In a form of dejected hope, he says, "You do not know what I have done?"

"I don't know much of anything here," I say with a shrug of a shoulder. "Other than you're mentioned in a children's book and Thor is part of the Avengers." I cast a glance around me, searching for a sign of someone saving me, only to find no one. I look back up at him.

His smirk does nothing to bring the playful shimmer back in his eyes. I tighten my arms around me in an attempt to keep out the chill from crawling up my spine at his broken expression.

_What did I say?_

He leans down until his eyes are level with mine and, in a soft detached voice, he tells me, "I am the one who attacked your precious city."

I do not hide my shock; wide eyes and mouth agape. My body even goes slack at the force of the knowledge. This man is that monster? He is; he attacked a city and killed people! Looking at him, he doesn't seem like he'd do such at thing.

Yet, here he is – a cell far away from any favorable company.

_He IS evil._

I can't even find any words to say to him as I look at the floor. I want to scream at him, bang on the glass, and all these things that I could put my life in jeopardy. I see myself doing all of these things that I want to do, yet I'm standing there looking at the floor.

I look up at him with tears in my eyes; I can't figure out—I can NEVER figure out why some individuals attack the innocent.

"Why?" Is all I can ask him.

His expression remains unreadable with that insufferable smirk on his lips. "A human life is short and pathetic. They are filled with such greed and ignorance that it is unfathomable. They cannot see through the allure that freedom is a lie and that they scramble for it and power. As if it's a tangible thing. Those pathetic insects were made to be ruled and you know this. Do not attempt to block out my words, for you know how true they are!"

I had to turn away from him and clamp my hands over my ears. His words somehow managed to break through them and whisper themselves in my head. "Shut up," I weakly tell him desperately trying not to cry. So many people were hurt and still are hurting from the devastation.

"You are a GODDESS!" He bangs against the glass, his words seething out. "Even before now you had people kneeling before you in your glory; wishing to catch the slightest glimpse of you. They craved what you have: power and the freedom to do as you pleased. And in seeing you they knew they could not possess them. They threw themselves at you like wild animals starved; screaming your name, begging for your gaze, smile, and caress."

"Shut up," I whisper through clenched teeth; desperation turning to hate. He knows nothing of my life! How could he? He wasn't there to watch me grow up; my parents, family, Madison, and Tom were. No one here knows me for me! They only know HER!

"Even when you were lost—taken they prayed to you. Praying, like pathetic children, for something other than power and freedom, a far more intangible thing they could never truly have: peace. You ARE the Goddess of Peace and Lightning, younger TWIN sister of Thor, and DAUGHTER of Odin. You will NEVER see Midgard again."

"SHUT UP!" I screech, whirling around to face, seething mad, as a bolt of light crackles from my waving hand and leaves a black char on the lighted pavement. The light from the end of the chamber flickers noticeably through the agape door.

I let out a shuttering gasp and stare at my uninjured hand and the arch of char.

Loki had stepped away when the threat had licked at his cage with wide eyes. His shock is short lived and his shoulders shake with a sadistic laugh as a smirk rises upon his thin lips. He raises his gaze from the floor and attempts to look down the stretch of darkness to the dancing lights with a smile on his lips. His gaze fluidly shifts back down to me. Dare I say I see a glimmer of recognition and mirth in his eyes?

"You have grown far more violent in the past years." His voice is soft and delicate, as if not to quarrel my anger further. Although, there is still mockery in his face.

"What are you doing here?" Thor's voice suddenly booms off the silent walls.

I jump at hearing his deep, recognizable voice; it breaking me out of my own state of shock. Turning to him with an immense amount of gratitude, I can't help but smile at him. I don't run to him though, fearing that there are more monsters within the shadows and what he'd do to me once I'd reach him.

He speedily walks towards me, his footsteps nearly silent at their quick steps. Seeing him in the cell's light I see he's dressed in Medieval-like night clothes. The warmth of his hands gently clamp down on my shoulders. I shiver at the heat of them seeping into me. I haven't realized how cold I was until now.

One hand leaves my shoulder to cradle the side of my face; and I instinctively hold it to my cheek. The rough, calloused hand is just like it was when he brushed away stray strands of my hair or brushed his fingers against my cheek when I was unresponsive to everything. As a whole, it practically takes up the whole side of my face.

"You should not be here," he says softly, staring into my eyes with concern. "Come." His hand on my shoulder slides to my waist and he brings his warmth with him. I easily relax into him; searching for some form of comfort. Any form of comfort will do at this point.

"Dear Thor," Loki purrs and the tranquility is shattered. "Surely you do not intend on taking her away, do you? We were just getting to know one another."

"Not now, Loki." Thor growls, walking down the dark and I press myself closer to him.

"Very well, then. I will be here if you wish to continue our discussion, Princess. Please, come again soon."

_I am not a princess!_

Thor's strides are large and fast, and it takes all of my self-control not to trip or to hold onto him for my life. We do not waste time to gaze at all the monsters or talk in this jail room. I don't want to anyway, not after meeting Loki. How could he have done such a thing and attack innocent people? How could anyone do such a thing? And those aliens…. A shudder racks through my body at the distant memory of them. They were either on the ground firing at people or flying in the air with those other…monsters. I can't repress the memory of those scaled, over whale sized, airborne THINGS soaring throughout the skies anymore. They and the humanoid ones caused destruction everywhere they went. People were running around blindly, screaming for loved ones, and searched for shelter. I helped those that I could; yet, I wish I could forget what I have seen.

_Too much…it was all too much._

And, even after the massive attack, people had the audacity to steal. Not even important things such as food or water; just stupid electronics and things like that. My body begins to throb at the memory of everything pinning me down to the hard sidewalk.

"Are you alright, Tessa?" The sudden sound of Thor's voice breaks my attention to him.

I blink up at him with wide eyes. "What did you just say?"

"I asked if you were alright."

"No, not that." I shake my head at him, before looking up at him as we walk to…somewhere. "You said my name, didn't you?"

"Of course," he shifts his eyes about before looking back down to me, "that is your name, correct?"

"Yes, but…I didn't think anyone here knew my name. How do you know it?" Suspicion begins to crawl up my back and claw its way into my head. Thoughts of Loki crack and crumble as I wonder how Thor knows my name.

"Your handmaiden, Madison, mentioned it when I visited Midgard." Before I can take an intake of breath, he continues, "She is very protective of you – a noble and honorable trait. She threatened me upon sight and did hit me."

A small lopsided smile makes its way across my lips at the thought of little pixie Madison hitting a big, intimidating guy like Thor. Threatening him, too. I'm very proud of her right now.

"Once her anger was quelled, she asked about you until she was satisfied."

"What did you tell her?" I ask with a quirked up brow, watching the firelight dancing off his face. He doesn't seem like a bad guy anymore. He has that princely trait that all women love; tall, fair, muscularly large, kind, and just…warm. His blue eyes glimmer and dance in the passing torch light.

_Don't trust him._ A voice whispers in my head. _Trust no one who resides here; they'll hurt you._

"I told her you are not in any danger here; that you're safe and were treated for your condition. That you're no longer bleeding conspicuous amounts at odd times in the day and night."

I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water. He told her the truth? Well…damn!

"Thank you," I say genuinely, smiling up at him.

"You are welcome." He beams proudly.

We continue to walk down the long, golden hall with silence enveloping us. I feel at peace with him, as strange as it sounds, and I desperately search for a sense of loathing towards him and his family.

_Hold on to it,_ I tell myself. _They do not deserve my gratitude or admiration. No of it!_

"Do you honestly think you're doing something that can help me," I carefully tell him, hurt and anger mixed with my words, "when all you've and your family have done thus far is cause me nothing but aggravation!" I tear away from him, glaring up at shadowed face, watching how loud I'm getting as I grasp onto a thread of hate. "And you expect me to believe the whole "blood changing" thing that everyone here – wherever HERE is exactly – is so keen on? I am not some dumb blonde who can't think! I want answers!"

Thor's massive chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. When he rubs his scruff covered jaw it seems to add a few years to his person. Worry riddles within his eyes. "I am truly sorry for all the pain my family has caused you, Tessa Rosalin Maberry of Jersey and York. Daughter of Abraham and Rosabella Maberry. My mother and father were just so happy to know you are alive." His smile is sad and weak – forced. I know that he isn't seeing me either, no matter how many times he says my name and birth place.

_He's making an effort though._

I cross my arms under my chest as I refuse to give in to his words and sad puppy-like expression. "Tell me everything you know."

Thor nods with reluctance shining in his eyes. "First," he begins, "let me take you to the kitchens. I am sure you are starving."

At the reminder of food, my stomach lets out a loud unladylike gurgling sound. I don't let that sound and its perfect timing embarrass me though. I nod and tell him to lead the way.

We pass pockets of guards as walk down endless halls. They stop us and tell us I cannot be out of my chambers unless it is to join the King and Queen.

"She is with me," Thor said to them. "My mother and father are asleep in their chambers and she is hungry. If you fear the wrath of the Terrible One, have him ask for me and I will come." After that we walked on our way without any interruption from them.

My breath is taken away once we enter the kitchen. It's large in every sense of the word. There is a high, immaculate ceiling above us and tall glass windows along the back wall. I follow behind Thor, running my hand over the smooth and cool unidentified stone islands. There are a lot of islands, stations all of which are empty and sparkling clean. On the opposite side of the windows are all the appliances to prepare the meals. They all seem medieval, but also easy to use. I dare not say modern for there's nothing modern about their appearance.

"Please," Thor says gesturing towards a long table, "have a seat." Thor makes his way to a golden framed and glass door cupboard.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as I take a seat at the head of the table. He gathers a large loath of bread, a jar of red jam, and a covered plate of dry sliced meat. Along with the actual food he cradles two copper plates, goblets, and silver ware in his arms. As he makes his way towards the table I instinctively go to get up.

"Do you need any help?" I ask, hand on the edge of the table.

"Nay, I'm all right." He expertly places the plates down and the silver ware in front of me and where he'll sit. This action is quickly followed by the goblets resting near them. Between the plates he sets the food down. After, filling the goblets with a deep red and very strong smelling liquid he sits down.

Slicing the good smelling bread, he says, "My apologies that it isn't much. It's the first thing that I could think of that would be easy to fill our plates and sate our stomachs."

I look at him while filling my plate with a few slices of meat, which look like odd slices of bacon or something, and taking a portion of the bread. "It's okay." I carefully tell him, studying his easy movements. Despite his large and bulky exterior, he isn't lumbering about with his actions. He hasn't a care in the world right now; not cautious like me. Not frightened like me.

My hand burns and itches at the fresh reminder of what recently transpired. Ignoring the nauseating reminder, I attempt to hide it by spreading the strawberry smelling jam on my slice of bread. _At least they have strawberries here._

I can't keep the nausea down and the words spew from my mouth. "Loki said I was a goddess. The Goddess of Peace and Lightening. Is that true?"

"My sister was. My family and I believe you are her, so in a way, aye."

"Was she…powerful?" I begin to scratch at my hand under the table.

"Very," a smirk crosses his lips, a flicker of happiness filters across his eyes. "At a very young age she was this…peaceful little girl. Nothing really bothered her; unless her family, friends, or the people of Asgard where threatened. She helped them. When she smiled or looked at them or just held their hand, you could see them relax. Be at peace.

"The powers she possessed over nature were a sight to behold. There were times I was afraid. Not of her, but of the raw strength of it."

A single side of my lips quirk up; a little girl has that affect on people? Amazing.

Licking my lips to rid of the strawberry residue, I ask my next question, "How was she with animals?" The recent events and his explanations, the puzzle pieces begin to fall and connect with each other. If I ask the right questions, everything will come together.

Thor throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. "Amazing! They all loved her – even our most troubling animals!"

My hand gently cups the underside of the goblet as I gently swirl its contents inside. Thor goes on how his sister was with the horses (mainly one named Sleigh-pear...Spleener…or something like that) and the other animals and how they'd hoard around her when she was near. I remember when the animals at my parents' farm did that; the horses, pigs, chickens, all of them.

_They all felt at peace._

"She even made Loki and I stop fighting." Thor finishes with a forlorn expression.

"Loki…is…your brother?"

"I still believe so, aye." He gives me a single nod. "So much time has passed and I rarely go to visit him – only on the occasion where I sought his advice when I first dreamt of my sister. We've known each other since we were boys; we were raised together." Thor raises his hands to hold an invisible infant. "I saw grow from this small baby to a man. All those times we had…I cannot just toss all those memories aside."

_Much like with you._ I silently add. I stare down at my plate of food, hoping for it to give me the answers I greedily want. It doesn't give me anything.

"And…the lightning part? With her being the Goddess of Peace, I'd think the lightning bit contradicts with that. And you said she had a raw power over nature." There's a part of me that tells me that I need to change the subject. That the wounds Loki has caused are still too fresh. Hell, I'm still upset at what I just discovered.

"Do not be mistaken by her title of Peacekeeper – she is a true force of power if the situation should arise. There were times where I saw a glimpse of a warrior in her eyes and felt the anger boiling deep insider her. The sky would turn gray—no, black and the fire would burst forth – fire and lightning are one of the same element – and in the black clouds lightning would dance down to the earth. She never said a word to anyone how she felt in those moments; the unintentional reactions she caused would do that for her."

After swallowing a large gulp of the STRONG red alcohol (a form of wine, maybe), he continues, "She would stand perfectly still with a cold expression, so cold there was no life in her eyes, in front of an open window with the storm raging outside behind her. The cold wind would bellow around her and she'd pay no mind. In those moments everyone was reminded of who she truly was: Odindottir. Goddess of Peace and Lightning. Peacekeeper between Thor and Loki. Princess of Asgard. Together she and I were a Storm."

"She lent you her powers?" I eat a small bit of the meat, savoring the salty taste, with my "lightning hand" flat against my stomach. I remember the storm I was in when Thor came to take me away. I didn't cause that, did I?

"More than once," he says with a smile. "You've heard that she would keep me at peace during my adventures, aye? While you were still?"

When I nod, he says, "Those moments in our connection; she felt what I did and so kept me at peace. Then, there were times she completely given up her Lightning to help me. I was told she was weak in those moments." A look of helplessness crosses his face. "Time and time again she helped me like that – weakening herself to see that I survive."

_These people aren't monsters._ No matter what news, magazines, or anyone says I won't believe them. They don't see the pain or hurt or loss in their eyes. _There is only one monster that lives on this planet and he is floors beneath us._

I close my eyes to block out the thought of that man…that-that-that-that MONSTER being related to me. That monster is a cold-blooded killer that tried to enslave my world, my home. He was the one who initiated the attack by those…alien things. He would've done anything to obtain my home and for what selfish cost?

_He's worse than a monster._

Taking a deep breath I look up at Thor, whose shredding large chunks off of his slides of meat with complete ease and not a care in a world. _If I am this Princess of Asgard and I'm Thor's sister, Loki and I would not be related by blood. Thank God for that; I could never be related to such a fiend._

"What about the blood?" I ask, biting off another corner of the bread. "Frigga said something about my "blood changing.""

Thor's chest rises and falls with a great sigh as he leans back in his chair. He looks up at the ceiling with his eyes flickering back and forth. Once his words are found he looks at me with a neutral, calming expression. "Back in the life when we were brother and sister, and you were Princess of Asgard, you were an Aesir – as am I and nearly most who reside here.

"Many years ago, a little over twenty-five years ago, this kingdom was attacked by unknown race. They took you – my sister at the time – away from us." Remorse takes over his sleepy face as he reaches over to push back a stubborn blonde lock of my hair. "It was during that time when they forced you to drink a potion – none know how that was possible without physical harm to you…."

A dull pain begins to throb in my left side. It's a deep type of pain, starting between two of my lower ribs and it runs deep into my body. I can feel the sharp point of the pain end just below my lung. I can see myself scowling at the white starburst birthmark in my mirror at home, where that pain starts is where that birthmark resides. It's hidden under my large tattoo now. This pain is worse than when I got that years ago.

"We have come to the conclusion that, that potion has changed your blood and brought your person back in time. It changed you into a newborn baby with no recollection to this life. It is a very rare and unforgiving potion, I gather. They could have killed you then; yet, here you are." He gives up on my hair to cradle my face; a habit he seems to enjoy. "I cannot force you to remember the moments we shared together, no matter how much I wish it true. I will not force you, but I will simply not give up on you. I will call you by your Midgardian name, though you must forgive me if I call you anything other than that." A smile makes its way to his bearded, youthful face. "Sometimes I speak without thinking first."

A silence folds around us; I don't know what to say. I can only smile at his smile.

What do you say to someone who is a superhero who essentially kidnapped you, but also took care of you when you needed it most? Probably saved you?

They even claimed they knew what was wrong with me and here I sit perfectly fine and ready for anything. Eating with the man who took me away and having a civilized conversation with him. Thor even saw and spoke with Madi. What kind of kidnapper would do such a thing?

_And,_ I tell myself, _he saved me from Loki._

I place my hand over his and carefully tell him, "If – and that's a very big "if" – what you say is true…I will…keep an open mind. I'll fight things, no doubt, like when people tell me I'm her when I know I'm not or expect me to act differently than who I am. Will you be able to convince others not to force things on me?"

"I will try. I cannot guarantee though."

"Okay, then. I'll…see where this takes us!" I smile up at him, ignoring the apprehension crawling up my spine. I will ATTEMPT this! I will actually listen to them as they will with me.

A memory of my mother comes to mind. It's a small, seemingly unimportant thought – faded and frayed at the edges and not completely there. All I can recollect is that she's holding me close and petting my hair. She whispers to me, her breath barely disturbing the air around us, _"You were made for great things, Tessa. The moment your father and I held you, we knew you'd be destined for greatness."_

_This can't be what she meant…, can it?_

Thor carefully lets go of my face, gets up, and wraps his arms around me. He hugs like Uncle Pete; tight and full of love. I feel a flicker of safety in his arms.

"Thank you," he says, "you will not regret this. I promise."

I pull away from the hug to give him a sheepish, toothy grin. "Is the offer to eat breakfast with you guys still on the table?"

He beams his smile radiating and infectious. "Of course! We'll throw a grand feast! Morning, noon, and night!"

"Um, that's not really necessary." It's too much of a party. "I wouldn't mind spending the day with them though. To actually talk to them and see what they have to say."

"Aye," he nods, scratching the back of his neck. He gives me an uneasy, apologetic smile. "My apologies, Tessa, I wasn't thinking. My mother and father will be more than happy to break their fast with you. Privately, I'm sure."

"Thanks," I pause to find the right words, "I probably wouldn't be completely comfortable if it were a lot of people."

"That is completely understandable. Let us finish here and I will show you to your chambers."

"My chambers?" I raise a brow at him, thinking that the room I woke up in is enough.

"The one my father spoke of several days ago."

"Oh…." The Princess' room.

We eat the rest of this small snack in silence after my comment on how good this stuff is – mainly the bacon-like stuff. (Apparently it's from a wild boar, so…yeah…bacon.) The clangs and tings of metal utensils on ceramic plates echo in the air loudly over our soft chewing. Looking at Thor, though, I can see he's holding back from just tearing the meat to shreds like he first started to. Much like I do when I find something utterly delicious.

Taking one of my last slices of meat I rip off a large piece of it. Thor blinks owlishly at me. Soon a grin breaks itself across his face and he devours the bread and meat like a starving dog. I try to keep in my snorts of laughter through my bites.

…

"Two hundred-one, two hundred-three, two hundred-four... Are we there yet?" I cry out childishly, growing tired of climbing up the spiraling staircase. My legs are beginning to ache from all the steps and I can feel myself getting dizzy. "Two hundred-six, two hundred-seven…."

"Almost," I can hear the chuckle in his voice at my counting. "Why? Are you growing tired?" He looks over his shoulder with a smug smile. A smile I've only seen in my older cousins when I was a kid. I'd love to slap it off of him like I do with them.

"No! Just getting bored." I look back down at my feet and resume counting, "Two hundred-fifteen, two hundred-sixteen," a yawn breaks my counting. "And tired…. Two hundred-eighteen…."

"Would you like for me to carry you?" His holds out his hand briefly.

"No, I'm good." _Although it does sound amazing to just sleep right now._ "But, if we don't get their soon I'm gonna pass out on these steps. Two hundred-twenty-two…." I didn't even have the energy to stop and stare out through the small windows we passed by. My legs just kept going up and up and up and up and around and around and around and around.

_How could this girl do this every day and every night?_

"Tessa?"

My nose nearly collides with Thor's back at his sudden stop. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright? You've stopped counting."

"Oh, man!" I groan looking back at the steps we went up. "I'm not going down and starting over again. Do you know the number?" I look at him for a glimmer of hope.

"Three hundred-one."

I can't help but laugh. "Thank you!" We resume walking up the steps. Just before I start counting, before I take a single step, Thor tells me we're only a few steps away from the room.

_Thank you, Lord!_

"This will be your room; you may do as you like. You may sleep, eat, and bathe in this room. You may use all that you see fit and try on the gowns, as well."

"She has a bathroom in her room?"

We walk up the next few steps to stand in front of a thick red wooden door with silver ivy stretching up and across the right side of the door. There's even a small, rose tinted window that the ivy curls around. The doorknob matches the ivy metal work.

"Wow," I say, lightly knocking on the door with a single knuckle, "impressive door."

"Aye," he says with a small, forlorn smile. He walks up to the door, pressing his thumb down on the flat, curved handle and pulls the door out. It doesn't creek like the other one. He gestures for me to enter first with a sweep of his hand.

"Thank you." I nod and smile at him, walking into the dark room. Thor's hand brushes against mine and there's a hiss to the far right of the room. That hiss brought a small spark of life, which soon becomes a blazing fire. Absentmindedly, I walk into the growing circle of light. I watch as the light dances on the furniture in the room and highlight the farthest corners. Just by this single source of light I can see how large this room is.

_This is MY room?_

Underneath the thick thrown ornate rug the floor is stone, as are the walls, a dull gold in the firelight. Drawn curtains keep out the moonlight and the flames in. Against the furthest wall from the door, I can barely make out the bed. It looks like I could fit five sumo wrestlers across it. The length is something other than impressive. A giant could lie on that bed!

_I can't wait to see how this all looks like in the daytime._

Thor walks in and out of the circle of light carrying long pieces of wood – torches. He takes two and perches them on either side of the door, the backside of it is covered in metalworked ivy. Almost like a tree. Very carefully, and very quickly, candlesticks are lit and placed into the copper candelabras by the bed.

Now that the room is lit further – no matter how dim – I can make out a sofa and two loveseats surrounding a low table, tall and full bookshelves against eastern wall, an elevated vintage globe beside the large fireplace, a vintage desk with a piece of written paper on it near the bed, and three other doors. All are bathed in the golden glow of the fire.

"Will you be alright?" Thor asks, standing in the light, smiling.

"Um," I look around, licking my lips, "yeah. I should be, I guess." Glancing at the bed, I spot a pretty doll in a silky gown and long blonde hair.

"Why did you light the fireplace and candles?" I ask, glancing back at him.

"Your eyes linger on the farthest and darkest corner, you haven't left the fire's light since it was lit, and you hold yourself to cease the trembles on your person."

I can't help but smirk at his words. "That's very observant of you, Thor."

"Thank you." He beams proudly, the night shift rises with his swelled chest. He visibly deflates when he looks at me with a deep seriousness in his eyes.

_Eyes that look so much like my own when I'm so serious._

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I should be," my nod is not at all convincing. Looking up at him with the fire at our sides, warming us both and the crackling wood the only sounds for a while, I ask, "How do you know that I won't leave?"

"Where will you go if you do?"

It's such a simple rebuttal. Where will I go if I manage to escape this tower? This palace? A palace that I know nothing about and don't know if I'll be going up or down. Then, there are is the village – the lands – outside. Sure, from afar, when I was looking down on them, the people seemed normal but that could change once I'm among them. Odin has made it very clear that he doesn't want me walking about this castle on my own. I can't leave during the day because of the obvious fact that people are awake and I can't leave during the night because of the dark.

Tonight, I was led to a dungeon full of monsters. What if that happens again? What if I'm led back to Loki and forced to listen to his words – his lies – and that power inside me becomes too much to control? True, I hate what he's done but I can't imagine killing him. Hurting him (be it punch, kick, or slap) I can see myself doing time and time again. Lightning can kill people though and I have no control over it.

_I don't want to be a monster like him. I need to find a way to control this power._

I close my eyes to force out all the images of bursting flames and recent storms that I undoubtedly created, and the sick amusement on Loki's pointed face. All the emotions that I couldn't read and those I could I force from my mind.

"I…," I quietly start, unable to look Thor in the eye, "I don't know."

"Tessa," Thor's massive hands gently fall to my slumped shoulders and I lazily bring my head up to look him in the eye, "though it may not seem like it now, you are very well protected here. Guards patrol up and down these halls night and day to ensure the safety of the palace's residences. Everything my mother and father have done thus far is to protect you. When you break your fast with us in the morn, all will be made clear to you."

_Remember what you promised,_ I tell myself, _you won't fight too much. You'll listen._

I can only nod.

Feeling Thor's lips and scruff against my forehead causes my body to tense and back to straighten. I can't push him away and I don't know why. Something deeply buried inside me welcomes the warm and familiar feeling. My eyes close as my hands rise to cup his elbows. Losing the effect of shock, my body relaxes.

Nothing can hurt me. It's a fleeting sensation coursing down to my fingertips and toes.

_He'll protect me. Him, the Warriors Three, Sif, Odin, Frigga, the guards, they'll all protect me._

_Loki, too._ A voice whispers in my ear when Thor pulls away.

I smile at his smile; seeing no evil or malice in it.

A laugh rips past my lips at Thor's sudden flourish bow. When he rises, he has the cheesiest and toothiest grin on his face. I notice that the hairs closest to the corners of his mouth stick out a little bit like whiskers.

"May you have pleasant dreams this night, Tessa. Someone will come to fetch you in the morning." Thor says with a chivalrous quality.

I give him the best curtsey I can in my pajamas. "Thank you, and may sweet dreams enter your mind tonight, Thor."

He gives me one last bow at the door before leaving. The door doesn't click with a lock; I'm free to leave. I can't though, I know that now.

Loki's voice worms itself in my ears; poisoning my mind. _"How does it feel to know that your entire life has been taken away from you and your existence on Midgard has been all a lie? You will NEVER see Midgard again!"_

I collapse on the soft, bouncy, yielding bed shivering with his words weaving in my head. I know next to nothing of these people. That Norse mythology book was a gift for me when I was going through a phase and had requested it for a present. I haven't looked at it or read it in years. I've only glanced at Loki's picture and what he was the god of to ease my curious mind. Seeing Odin's name was pure luck.

_"You are a GODDESS!"_

"Loki lies," I mutter to myself, trembling as I curl under the blankets and clutching onto the doll. "Loki lies, Loki lies, Loki lies…." I softly chant this over and over again as sleep takes hold of my body and mind. Slowly my lips stop moving and the words are lost in my sleep lulled brain. Even his words can't penetrate through the fogginess that is sleep.

Yet, admits the fog, I can see the silhouette of a man. The fog is too thick to see him clearly; however, I see he's on his knees hunched over. That is the last thing my mind can produce before I fall completely into sleep's embrace.

…

Not a sound enters my ears; everything's blissfully silent. I can't hear any birds, guards, servants, or crackling wood. There is life moving about the castle with a renewed vigor – I can feel that, but not hear it.

Opening my eyes with a flutter, I see sunlight streaming in through the curtains covering the windows and outside door. Rolling onto my back, I raise my arms from beneath the covers and I stretch them and my legs with a groan. Since I've first arrived I haven't felt so…peaceful. Brushing back a lock of my hair, I look around the room as I leisurely wake up from my blissful sleep.

In the light of day everything in this room is so magical. The colors seem to be alive with color and vibrating with life. The coldness of the stone floor does not even penetrate the ornate Persian-like rug – it's so soft and plush, too.

The tips of my fingers brush against the long sofa as I walk by it. The plush, microfiber tranquil colored seating sends goosebumps to rise on my arm. It's almost as if it's begging to be sat in. Glancing at the low table that is surrounded by these seats, I spot a fine China tea set. I walk around the seats to crouch next to it. My finger slowly traces the cool porcelain curve. The white five cup teapot and its surrounding cups are decorated with elegant dark navy and petite rose décor. Each piece is trimmed in gold with a northern star pattern for added beauty.

The bookcases are so tall a sliding ladder is needed to reach the upper shelves. I brush my fingers against what I can reach. The old leather is unyielding under my fingers. Each book is different than the last – thin, moderate, or thick.

Picking a random book I turn it over to read the title. Surprisingly it reads: _History and Legends of Asgard_. I mindlessly flip through the thin, brittle edged papyrus pages; treading more carefully when some crumble. I pause when I spot a picture (hey, the words are too tiny to read this early in the morning) of a towering, golden palace and a rainbow bridge. Rocking the book back and forth I see the page gleam and sparkle in the light. It reminds me of the movie pictures in _Harry Potter_ series.

Cradling the heavy book in my left arm, I take a closer look at the page in attempt to read the page next to the picture. I have to blink away the heavy sleepiness coating my eyes, hoping to read the tiny and thin words more easily.

_"Asgard is, first and foremost, the home of the powerful pantheon of gods and goddess – the Aesir. This is the home of the mighty and renowned Thor Odinson. –"_

"Your Grace?"

I jump and lightly yelp at the soft knock and gentle voice on the other side of the door. Regaining my hold on the book, I snap it shut and slide it back in place. My feet don't make a sound as I quickly make my way across the large room.

"Who is it?" I call out, my hand wrapping around the doorknob.

"It's Gersemi, Your Grace."

The actions I took a few days ago come flooding back to me. I close my eyes at the instant overwhelming feeling of guilt and stupidity gnawing inside me. I lightly bang my head against the door muttering "stupid" over and over again in a multitude of languages. And a far worser swear word to boot. My mother would be so proud of me.

" _Cazzo_ ," I grumble, thumping my head against the metal part of the door. " _Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo_." I even yelled at a poor guy for listening to his boss. Then, afterwards he carries me to my car with blood spewing from my mouth and dripping from my nose.

_Big. Stupid. Head. I am._

I can still see the fear in Gersemi's eyes and feel her trembling in my hand as I remember it all. Even with the twisted sense of satisfactory that I got my answer out of her, I went about it all wrong. I don't threaten poor, innocent girls with stabbing them so deep in their eye they'll die nor do I threaten them by slitting their throats. My parents raised me better than that!

Looking through the frosted window I see the top of her silhouette. Taking a deep, cleansing breath I open the door to greet her.

She's still the sweet-looking, pretty girl she was those handful of days ago – albeit more fearful looking now. Her chin is low and her big doe eyes gaze at the floor like it has some great story to tell. Her hair is curled from her face and in a low ponytail. The powder blue colored, Roman styled dress hugs her around her waist and flows from her hips. The long skirt of the dress brushes against the floor and the neckline is modest. Much like the last time I saw her she has golden clasps are on her dress – only this time there are two on top her thick straps. There's a subtle glimmer on the flowy dress, too.

"Good morning, Your Grace." she says quietly curtseying. "The AllFather and AllMother sent me to fetch you. Prince Thor had said you will be breaking your fast with them."

"Oh, um, thank you. I'll be out shortly."

_Say you're sorry!_

Gersemi looks up with apprehension in her eyes. "Um, I beg your pardon, Princess," I try not to cringe at the word too many people have called me that, "but the Prince has requested me to assist you in getting ready."

"Oh…, then, please come in." Stepping back I gesture for her to come in with a closed hand. I make sure not to do what I've done last night with Loki. Thankfully, lightning does shoot from my hand when she steps through the threshold.

I can't help but notice her stiff gait is when she walks by. Why would Thor send someone who's terrified of me? Doesn't he know what happened between her and me?

_Apologize!_

With my back to her, my forehead again meets the door once it's shut. Gathering my wits I turn to face her with a sigh. _You've done wrong._ I tell myself as I walk over to where I see the sparkling light blue dress. _You've done a LOT of wrong – yelling at innocent people for following orders. You promised you'd keep an opened mind. Just keep pushing for home._

"Gersemi," I call out from behind her.

"Aye, Your Grace?" she jumps away from the door's threshold.

"Please listen to me when I say—holy shit is that MY closet?!" I rush past her to stand in the massive walk-in closet full of dresses and shoes. There is a dress of every color – from long to short and the layered Medieval English gowns to the flowy Roman and Grecian dress. While some are modest, there are others that are revealing. All seem complicated to put on. The shoes range flat to high-heeled; there are sandals for spring and summer and boots for fall and winter. Each shoe is different from the last. There are cloaks and wraps, too!

"Wait," I drop a particular gorgeous golden high-heeled sandal and step back, "no this isn't what I was gonna do." Shaking my head, I look at the amused young girl standing in the doorway.

"Aye, it is your closet, Your Grace. I take it it is to your liking?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't gonna say that at first." I wave my hands in front of me, as if it could erase the actions I've just done.

_Attention span of a blonde._

"What I was going to say, Gersemi, is that I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to—" I raise my hand to stop her words; trying not to smile when she stops short in her sentence.

Lowering my hand I look in her bright brown eyes. There's a glimmer of fear in them. "What I have done to you…last week was wrong, I shouldn't have done that. I was just so…mad and I took that out on you. You have to know, the things I've said and done I didn't mean it. I was acting – it's my job on…Midgard. I still shouldn't have done that to you and for that I'm sorry. I'm truly, truly sorry!

"Remembering it now causes me to feel physically ill and disgusted with myself. I will NEVER threaten or harm you again, Gersemi."

By the time I'm finished, Gersemi's shoulders have relaxed and the fear in her eyes are gone. A form of gentleness has taken hold of her. She even has a kind smile on her face. "You are forgiven, Your Grace." she says with a nod of her head.

"I have a suggestion." I cautiously walk up to her, mindlessly waving my hands about as I explain, "Thor and I made a promise to each other last night. I promised Thor that I'd keep an open mind about this whole thing, and he won't force-feed me any of this "Princess of Asgard, daughter of Odin" stuff. How about you and I do the same thing? Starting over, I mean? Let's completely forget what has happened between us – a clean slate."

I hold out my right hand. "I'm Tessa Rosalin Maberry; it's a pleasure to meet you…?"

Gersemi blinks several times at my offered hand, before collecting herself and taking my offered hand. Unlike the custom on Midgard, she doesn't merely shake it. She raises it bit and curtsies. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tessa. My name is Gersemi Jaridottir."

I shake her hand the best I can with how she holds it, smiling. Finding this exchange to be very amusing. Aside from how we met—just control, alt, delete it from memory.

"So, Gersemi," I turn from her to face the large wardrobe, "do you have any idea how I should dress for this meet 'n' greet? The only royalty I've ever met was Queen Latifah."

"The AllFather and AllMother have often been very fond of the more…flowy dress, Your Gr—"

"Please, call me Tessa."

"Tessa." Gersemi smiles, a form of softness flooding her eyes. "May I make a suggestion?" She goes to reach for an imaginary gown, apprehension in her step.

"Please do." I gesture for her to go forth.

"While all these dresses will look marvelous on you, Tessa, there are three that I suspect you will adore and the Royal Family will respect." She pulls out the three dresses and three pairs of shoes. She hangs them on a pole for my observation with the shoes under them. Each dress is different from the other in color and length.

"Would you like for me to draw you a bath while you choose, ma'am?" Gersemi asks, once the dresses have been hung and the shoes have been placed.

"Sure, I could use a bath. An actual bath, too." I shudder at the of people sponge bathing me again. "And please," I give her a kind and gentle smile, "call me Tessa and only that."

"I'm sorry," she curtseys (I should ask her to stop doing that, too), "I will try harder to remember."

Shrugging a shoulder I let it roll off my back. "Don't worry about too much. Calling me "ma'am" just makes me feel old and "Your Grace" is someone for royalty."

From the corner of my eye I see her open her mouth to retort, but quickly closes it.

"If you need me, I will be readying your bath." She says, taking her leave.

_Well that didn't sound weird at all._

The first is a crimson red Roman styled dress that flows down to my mid-calf. A shawl-like wrap falls from the left shoulder and wraps around the torso to the right side, it neatly and smoothly seems to disappear into the back of the dress. The right shoulder is decorated with small golden blossoms, two peek-a-boo between the seams of the wrap on the bodice. The edges of the light fabric on torso are decorated with sparkling maroon coloring edges. Walking behind the dress, I see a small bow and the two maroon strands fall just past where my knees would be. The golden shoes are flat-heeled sandals with O-rings and studded detailing and double buckled closure. It's like those battle odyssey sandals.

The middle bronze dress is the shortest; the ruched skirt with ruffled underlayer hem, fully lined, falling just above my knees. The silk-satin on the right shoulder drapes down to the left hip – a draped bodice. What catches my eye the most is the bronze and green sheer lace, gold and gunmetal beaded and crystalloid embellishment that takes up the entire torso. It reminds of armor. Then, I brush my fingers across it and feel the lacey material. If I were to wear it, the sheer would only reveal an extensive amount of my collar bone; ending just above the swell of my breasts. The lace and fabric would hide everything else. The golden high-heeled shoes are a work of art. The split top features latticework sunbursts and shoestring laces. The open toe sits atop a beveled, contoured platform.

The last is a sparkling, shimmering light steel blue gown with silver embellishments on either of the bodice and around the back. Much like the others it flows, only down to the floor like a waterfall. Silk curves down from the shoulders, between the breasts, the boarder falls past the waist and hips, and meets in the back. Encircling around it. Inside boarder is the silver embellishments. Falling from under the bust is an undecorated satin tie. Over the tie, a drape of the steel blue falls decorated in light sky blue shimmering lines. It falls over the unornamented, long skirt to the floor. It fans out with the skirt, seemingly becoming a part of it. The sandals are flat and light green with leather straps and they have a large, very light green corsage flower; matching the buckle detail in the back.

"I like this one," I tell myself, picking up the long skirt and letting it gracefully fall back down. "Not too busy and not too sexy. After what happened, I could use a few positive points."

Walking out, I call for Gersemi. The once closed door across the bedroom is now open. I hear water running as I draw closer.

"I'm in here…, Tessa."

Ignoring the pause, I step in the room.

"Wow…." My eyes widen in amazement. Not from the Romanesque bathroom – with its abundance of stone and granite materials or the pillars and stone walls – it's because of the running water arching and twisting in from the window and into the tub. It's steaming as it gathers in the large and circular tub, too.

"How are you doing that?" I ask, raising my hand so that I can feel if it truly is water. It is and it's comfortably warm. It turns my fingers bright pink. The rushing water washes over my hand and trickles down my arm.

"It's common for women of Asgard to learn magic; especially those who work and live within the castle. The Queen is an expert in such an art – illusions mostly."

"Where are you getting this water?" I walk over to the window to see if there's a body of water below. The room is so high up, I can't see the ground. No matter how much I squint or follow the trail of water I see nothing down below. Just specks of stuff.

"There is a lake not too far from here. Do not worry, it is being cleaned and warmed before it gathers in the tub."

Walking back, I stick my hand in the high walled tub sighing when the warmth seeps into my skin.

"There is a selection of soaps and oils, for your liking." Gersemi gestures to the open cabinet near the tub. "May I suggest the cherry blossom scent?"

"Which one is that?" I look over the numerous glass vials, lingering at the shades of red and pink. Common sense telling me one of those has to be it.

The running water remains suspended in the air as she gracefully walks towards my side. She reaches up to the second highest shelf and shows me a light pink colored vial with a deep red flower glass lid and cork. She opens the vial – the distinct _pop_ bursting from it – and the romantic scent wafts up into my nose. I take the vial from her and inhale the lovely scent. I almost forgot what clean smells like!

"I'll take this one!" I bounce on the balls of my feet, growing giddy from the thought of a bath.

Smiling, Gersemi begins to move her arms again and the water begins to fill the tub. "Please," she says, "put in as much oil as you like. I must warn you though a little does go a long way under running water."

"Got it." I pour a splash of the cherry blossom oil into the tub. Noting how the churning water agitates the oil and soft pink bubbles begin to rise. Placing the glass bottle on the black stone edge of the bathtub I pick up a pink and red bar of soap with a cherry blossom on it.

"Did you choose a dress?" Gersemi asks. The tub is nearly three-quarters of the way full.

I sit on the edge of the tub with two more vials, the consistencies different from the first. "Yeah, the long blue one with silver embellishments." I trail my hands down my sides as if that would help her in seeing which one I'm talking about. Even though there's only one blue one pulled out.

She smiles, nodding her head. "Lovely choice, Tessa, that would suit you wonderfully. Would you like to wear any jewelry?"

"Nah, I'll stick with my necklace." I mindlessly twirl my silver key necklace as I look at the mountains of rosy pink bubbles.

Glancing up from the rising steaming water, I see Gersemi watching my necklace. I choose not to say anything; things are still too awkward for me to point things like that out. It feels weird for her to be treating me like this – asking me about dresses, jewelry, soaps and oils, and basically treating me like royalty. Even though I've asked her not to call me such.

"Where did you get that necklace?"

My head snaps up at her sudden question. I wasn't expecting her to ask.

"Um," I look down at it, the diamonds sparkling in the early morning light, "to be honest, I really don't know. I've had it for forever; since I was baby. I guess. I don't know anymore." I rub my face tiredly; all these past conversations and actions are confusing me too much.

"It's lovely. Truly."

"Thank you." She and I share a smile, and a chip of our first encounter is gone.

Gersemi looks down at the comfortably hot and soapy filled tub remembering why there is water streaming and floating in the air. "Your bath is ready." The flow of running water splits and runs backward out of the window and I imagine it falling back down to the late with a splash.

"If you need me, I will be in the next room over readying your dress." She curtsies at the door before leaving.

_Definitely need to ask her to stop that._ I tell myself, stripping out of my old pajamas.

…

After forty-five minutes and one soapy beard and afro later, I'm running my hands over the silk-satin material as Gersemi leads me to where I can "break my fast" with Odin, Frigga, and Thor. (After the initial shock, I try not to think of how this beautiful dress fits me perfectly.) Thankful, that it won't be some feast.

_Gawd, I hope there's a lot of food. I'm STARVING!_

I catch brief whiffs of the cherry blossom scent soap I've scrubbed into my skin and the matching shampoo and conditioner oil in my hair. Gersemi has let my hair stay down, but has styled it in loose ringlets. I reluctantly let her use the seemingly unused make-up to delicate paint my face. When I looked in the mirror, I was happily shocked with how I looked. It even feels light on my skin – almost as if it's not even there.

Time and time again, I go over what I'm going to say to Odin and Frigga. Each time I tell myself to stay calm and to look at it as an audition.

_Don't lose your cool. Listen to them. Ask them questions._

"Your Grace." Two deep, obviously male voices sound before me.

Snapping out of my daydream state, I blink at the bowing guardsmen. Like all the others, they're dressed to the nines in Medieval golden armor with outward curved horns helmets and elegantly dangerous weapons. They're standing in front of a dark red velvet curtain. I can hear the noticeable sound of various birds and streaming water.

"The AllFather, AllMother, and the Mighty Thor have been anticipating your arrival." says the bearded guard on the right, standing tall and intimidating.

They both reach in the middle of the curtain and pull it apart, bowing as I walk by.

The honey brown haired girl walks ahead of me in a proud stride. Far different from our earlier experiences. When she stops I do too, watching her fall into a very low curtsey wondering if I should do the same.

"Your Majesties, may I present to you Tessa Rosalin Maberry."

I lift the skirt of my dress in a small curtsey. I'm not completely sure what I should or should not be doing anymore. Thor promised me he wouldn't force me to do anything, but at the same time he said he wouldn't give up.

_They're not monsters,_ I remind myself as Frigga walks up to me with open arms. _Loki is the only monster—the only vile creature here._

"Tessa," she says softly with her arms wrapping around my shoulders, "good morning."

I falter when my hands rise. Do I hug her back?

Looking up for help, I see a grinning Thor. He wraps his armored arms around himself and rocks side to side, mouthing, "Hug her."

An easy smile tugs at my lips and I hug her back. "Morning, Frigga."

"How are you this morning?" She looks even more youthful and gorgeous in the natural light of day. She's dressed in a fitted satin lavender gown with a white scoop shawl stitched around the neckline and draped over the shoulders and matching frill around her wrists. Her long dark golden hair is tightly curled and swept over her shoulder. I even spot minuscule gems in the curls, which match the ones hanging from her ears.

Even her eyes have a sparkle of youth and mirth in them.

"I'm doing well, thank you." I tell her.

She leads me to a wooden table with a white cloth draped over it. My mouth nearly waters at the sight and smells of food on it.

The thought of them being hideous, destructive monsters melts away with the loving and motherly affection Frigga is showing. Her voice is soothing and calming, a beacon in the dark. Day in and day out she spoke to me as I remained unmoving. She asked me if I could move and asked me to squeeze her hand each time she saw me. Even though Odin has not spoken to me while I "slept," she and Thor have spoke highly of him and said he asked how I was fairing. Now, seeing him without all his stubborn rage and kingly air around, I can see the fatherly concern etched in his face.

"How did you sleep last night? I assume your quarters are to your liking?" Odin asks from standing at the head of the table. Like Thor, Odin is dressed in dark clothes with armor on his arms and most of his chest. He and his son lack any form of cape.

"Very well, thank you. It was bit of a climb though. Although, I did like waking up to the quiet." Thor holds out his hand when Frigga and I reach the table, when she splits to sit next to Odin I take the offered hand. The young man pulls out the seat as he guides me between it and the table. Smiling, I sit down as he pushes the seat in.

"Thank you," I tell him, smiling at his princely manner.

"You're welcome." He nods, taking a seat between me and Frigga. Straight across from Odin.

People dressed in powder blue and gold clasps or armor step forth all at once and lift the silver domes. My eyes widen when I look at the rainbow array of foods; my stomach growls. There are various types of smoked or salt rubbed meats, loafs of bread, fresh jars of fruits and jams and honey, sausage strata and frittata, roasted potato slices, ham and cheese quiche, and cupcakes the size of Thor's fist. The drinks are kept in intricately decorated bronze pitchers and goblets are by our plates.

When I reached for a pitcher a young man, seemingly in his early teens, steps forth and asks, "Would you like goat's milk, Your Grace?"

"Goat's milk?" Peering into the pitcher I see the white liquid that resembles milk. Shrugging my shoulders I sit back down. "Sure why not, I had weirder."

He pours it into my cup. Taking a sip, there is no noticeable difference.

_So far, so good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Well, I think that went pretty well, don't you? Even though the meeting with Loki wasn't long (and neither was the one with Steve; trying to keep it equal), I think it was…in character. My beta didn't say anything and tried to match with what mutantinthetardis said. (I already had that written.)**
> 
> **With Chapter Thirteen complete, it SHOULD be a shorter wait. However, my classes this semester are Monday through Friday and one of them is a Creative Writing course. That means reading works and writing fiction. Then there are Calculations and my CPR class. Plus, another one to boot. I really don't want to make you guys wait that much in-between chapters. xD**
> 
> *****VOTE COUNT:***  
>  Loki- 18  
> Steve- 10**
> 
> **REMINDER! On February 14th, 2014 at 11:59pm (USA, Eastern coast time) all votes will stop being accounted for. Those of you who have NOT voted and you have a preference; please vote before the given date.**
> 
> ** Next time on _Princess of Asgard:_ **
> 
> "While you were in the Tower, Tessa," there was a brief falter in Odin's voice when he said my name. I look up at him from my near empty plate, sensing that this will need my undivided attention. "Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?"
> 
> My eyes slowly widen at his words.
> 
> …
> 
> The Queen hands me an extra glass full of clear liquid. The bitter odor reaches my nose before I even have it in my hand. There's a shimmer swirling with the glass; I put it off as the sun peaking through the indoor garden's canopy.
> 
> …
> 
> In all of these books, I see boundless opportunities before me. What reside in these books could be the answers I have swimming around in my head. Much like everywhere on earth this grand place has a palace, magic, historic figures, and a history. This "grand library" holds so many secrets to me that are eager to be brought forth.
> 
> …
> 
> I burst through the last few, screaming, "STOP!" I throw myself between them. Yanking Tandril's raised down and away. "Stop this!"
> 
> **Next chapter's title:  
>  Blood Eagle**


	13. Blood Eagle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What types of torture mechanisms can you think of?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Ummm…hello, everyone. Heh, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I just want to start off by saying how terribly sorry I am for the long wait. I'm genuinely upset with myself for not being able to update every month like I wanted to. Something's have come up, personal things – my home life, school life, and unemployment and having to find a job now that this semester is over. And transfer colleges for my major. Just some…demons I needed to face.  
>  **I cannot begin to tell you guys/gals how sorry I am. I would like to thank all of those who have been reviewing, favoring, following, and commenting. Mutantinthetardis, twilightabyss, superwholocked23, XBloosom_FreakX, and guests, thank you all so much for your kudos. Thank you all, and thank you to the Guests and silent readers, for being that little kick in the ass I needed.**  
>  **On a happier note, I've tallied the votes as they came and know who Tessa will be paired with. And the winner is…with a seven vote difference, Tessa will be with…..LOKI! What does this mean for our heroine? Hmmm….**  
>  **Fear not Steve lovers, I do have one or two Steve/OFC fanfictions twirling around in my head. They're called _A Waltz for Debby_ and _Frost Bitten_. One is stronger than the other and I can't wait to post it; however, I will start posting it when the end of THIS story is close to an end.  
>  Again, I'm very, very, very sorry for the long wait. Please read and enjoy!**

The flow of food and drink are never ending. The servants are constantly refilling my cup and I'm always gathering the ham and cheese quiche. It's good stuff! The food is easy to tear into and it just melts in my mouth. If life were a cartoon my stomach would be singing right now.

Despite with how ravenous I feel about this, I keep my motions in check. I want to hoard the meats, potato slices, most of the food onto my plate. But I'm a guest; I can't do that.

"The Eastern Tower," Odin says after taking a sip of his drink and gathering his food, "your room specifically, faces the forest and mountains. With it facing away from the Bridge and being so high up, it would be a wonder how sound could reach the Tower."

"The occasional bird would, I imagine." Thor chuckles.

I bite down on my lower lip to keep in my laughter.

"The occasional bird is better than always having to wake up to them." I tell them, popping a potato slice in my mouth.

"There are a lot of birds where you live in Midgard?" Frigga asks, spreading purple jam on her slice of bread.

"Oh, yeah! I live outside the city – in the suburbs – and my neighbors have trees, birdfeeders, birdbaths, and some birdhouses. I think they're all morning people." I poke my tongue out at the thought of morning people; rising with the sun. I always hated that part of my New Jersey home – the damn rooster always announcing the sun is coming up.

Thor makes a grunt with his face in a grimace. Guess he doesn't like waking up to the sound of birds either.

"While you were in the Tower, Tessa," there was a brief falter in Odin's voice when he said my name. I look up at him from my near empty plate, sensing that this will need my undivided attention. "Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?"

My eyes slowly widen at his words. "Oh god, please don't tell me it's haunted."

"Nay, it is not haunted." I think I see a smile trying to tug at Odin's lips and mirth in his eye. I'm not one-hundred percent certain though. "The room and hall are full of memories. I would not be surprised if those memories started coming to life."

The little green eyed boy and I racing down the hallway last night comes to mind. We avoided the guards, open windows, and everything!

Should I tell them? If they know, or if Thor told them where I was so late at night, they're waiting to see how loyal and trustworthy I am. If they don't know, it's only Thor that knows where I was last night. None of them seem to be aware about the little boy. It wasn't even in the Princess' room!

_I'm in their world; I should probably say the truth though._ I think, inwardly sighing with defeat.

"Well," I start, "it wasn't in the Tower when I encountered a…boy." My fingers start to play with the flowy skirt of my dress before looking up at him

"What did he look like?"

I look at Frigga, seeing concern in her eyes. "He was very well dressed, too well dressed to not be royalty. He was small, pale skin that glowed in the light, sleek dark hair, black I think, and he had green eyes."

An impregnable silence and an awkward stiffness fill the green and colorful garden once I finish speaking. I look at all of them – Royal and serving alike – and see concern, horror, hate, or a mix of all three when I see their faces. I begin to nervously play with my food.

"Where was it that you encountered this boy," asks Odin. There isn't a particular tone in his voice and it isn't emotionless either. It's a demanding, stern tone that all parents have acquired.

"In the room where I first woke up here, where I slept, and where Frigga and Thor told me stories of your daughter." I look back at the two lightly smiling with earnest eyes to show them I don't speak in ill terms. Glancing back at the one eyed elderly man I tell him how the boy called out to me and how I could not let him get away, how we avoided the guards and seemed to have fun doing it, and how we were able to go in the dungeons.

"That's were Thor found me." I look at the young blonde apologetically. I hope I'm not throwing him under the bus.

"Aye, he said he found you speaking with Loki."

_Good thing I said something._

"True. But like always, Father, you seem to have known Tessa was there."

_Doubly good thing I said something._

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Odin's lips with a knowing look in his eye. "Aye, that is also true." He looks at me with a somber, sullen expression. "Yet, I do not know what was said between you and him. What did he tell you?"

"He told me that he attacked New York." I try not to think of the aliens flying through the sky and the devastation they've caused.

"Do you believe him?" Frigga asks.

She holds the most concern in her eyes. If Frigga is Odin's wife and Odin is the "father" of Loki, then Frigga is Loki's "mother." She is concerned for her son.

"I believe those…things needed someone with great intellect to guide them. Loki appears to have just that. And," I let out a soft sigh, hoping that I'm not condemning myself my admitting this, "when he told me he had a smile on his face."

I swallow a lump in my throat and lick my lips.

"Your Grace," I turn my attention to the soft-spoken young man on my left, "would you like more to drink?" His smooth looking hand reaches for the pitcher full of goat's milk.

"Yes, please." Even though I've had interviews about movies and CD's, my tongue is slowly turning into a brick wrapped in sandpaper now. The amount of oddity that I've heard and saw and the cruel things I said and done wraps tightly around my gut. It squeezes and ties with the uncomfortable reminder, until I place my hand over my stomach. It doesn't sooth the feeling, but it lessens. I hope that I can keep all this food down for the rest of breakfast.

"Tessa, may I suggest some other drink?"

"Of course, Frigga."

The Queen hands me an extra glass full of clear water. The bitter odor reaches my nose before I even have it in my hand. There's a shimmer swirling with the glass; I put it off as the sun peaking through the indoor garden's canopy.

"Mother…." Thor starts, a look from Frigga silences him.

Swirling the cup under my nose I try not to make a face. Would it be wrong if I chose not to drink it or faked drinking it? Would they know?

_Probably._

I kiss the edge of the wine glass with the foul water licking at my lips. There's a taste of sweetness when it seeps into my lips. It starts to smell and taste like honey. I wait a few seconds for the burning or tingling sensation of poisoning before swallowing it. The sweet flavor runs down the back of my throat until I can't taste it anymore. This brings a whole new meaning to the term "bitter-sweet."

"It tastes pretty good!" I beam at her, raising my glass. "Thank you."

I finish every last drop in the glass, smiling when I'm done. "Is there any more? That's good stuff." I look at everyone surrounding the table.

"Nay," says Frigga looking at me, toying with her skirt from behind the table, "I wanted to give you the last of it."

"Oh, well, thank you."

The glass slips through my fingers when the boy from earlier takes it from me and refills my goblet with more goat's milk. I try not to notice the silence as I eat the sausage strata. I look between the three of them, noting the growing confusion and distress in their eyes. The creepy-crawling feeling that is angst slowly crawls up my spine and wiggles itself into my brain. It whispers that I should fear what has just been done. That I will never be free of these people, no matter where I go or what I do they will always find a way to find me. It wraps itself until it's at the forefront of my mind.

A stone settles in the pit of my stomach. Thus, all this food quickly loses its appeal. I sit back with my hands in my lap and my utensils balancing on the side of my plate.

_No matter what promises I've made, so long as I'm here I'm still their prisoner._

The servants around us quickly gather everyone's plates, cups, and utensils and place them on the bottom of the trolley. The plates and pitchers that are still full are strategically placed on the wide top shelf. The trolley squeaks as it is wheeled away.

Not a crumb or wrinkle is left on the tablecloth. Gersemi and few servants stay behind, standing perfectly still.

"Would you like to take a walk with me, Tessa?"

I look up at hearing Frigga's gentle voice. The puzzlement and grief has melted away to show her caring mother nature. I can't help but relax at the sight of her loving eyes and easy smile. She's nearly glowing.

"Yes," I nod. Most of the apprehension melts away, only to leave small traces of itself behind. A young handmaiden steps to assist in pulling the chair out for Frigga. When I push back, I falter when someone helps me. Gazing over my shoulder I see Gersemi pulling my chair out for me.

"Sorry," I mouth.

She smiles, nodding in understanding. Together, we push the chair back and I stand by the table. She stands beside me as I walk towards Frigga.

"Thor, I need to speak with you in Gladsheim. Gather the others as well." Odin says as he rises from the head of the table.

"Yes, Father."

"Others," I ask, looking between the King and Queen.

"Come, Tessa," Frigga's hand falls to my lower back as she urges me forward with her. "I wish to speak with you."

I continue to gaze over my shoulder until Odin, Thor, and the remaining servants filter in palace. Gersemi and another young servant follow behind me and Frigga.

We walk along the path deep into the gardens. I stare at all the greenery, large and bright flowers, and the small tweeting birds. There are vines that creep up along the walls and pillars to wrap in each other on the glass ceiling. Exotic, unnamable blossoms hang from the walls and vines and within the bushes. Singing softly, the birds never leave their high perches.

"Is that a peacock," I ask, pointing at the tall royal blue bird.

Frigga chuckles. "Yes."

"Cool. I've never seen one outside of a zoo."

"Do you go to the zoo often?"

"I used to as a child. Not as much anymore with how busy I've been with work and…after the destruction of New York."

There's a brief pause between us.

"Would you mind if I asked about the attack?"

"Not at all." I shake my head, locks of my hair brushing against my face. I can't exactly say no to her; she has every right to know.

"Were you in the City when it was attacked?"

"Yes, I just got done an audition for a part in an upcoming movie. My publicist said the director said I was his first choice." A smirk tugs at the side of my lips. "I didn't have much of an interest in acting after the attack. I wanted to help the City – Manhattan – and the people as much as I could."

"Were you hurt?"

I shake my head and mindlessly rub my right forearm. "Not entirely. I wasn't hurt by those…things. But some rubble did fall on me after I encountered a few guys that were trying to steal some stuff. It's gone now." I look down at my arm. "The doctor said it would be _years_ until it fully went away, if at all." I glance at her for a moment, lowering my arm back down to my side. "Is that the Aesir blood at work?"

Frigga smiles at me. "Aye, the Aesir blood and our healing factor." Her smile falters to a line and her eyes lose their shine. "You were hurt after the attack?"

"Yeah. After the attack, people thought they could get away with stealing useless things –electronics like TV sets and iPhones – and I just couldn't let some of them get away with it." I ignore telling myself that she probably doesn't know what a TV set is or what an iPhone is.

"Did you ever see Loki?"

I shake my head again. "No, I was running through the streets helping those I could. Getting them to shelter, distracting those alien things, things like that. I think I would notice someone like Loki walking around." I try to keep the malice out of my voice.

"How would you realize him?"

Licking my lips I let a pause fall between us as I try to find the right words. I brush my fingertips along the smooth flowers as I pass them. The smooth feeling causes a smile to tug up at my lips. Some petals brighten at my touch, while others close up. "He's normal looking. Granted I wouldn't have known him from his face, but if I had spoken with him I think I'd known. His clothes may have helped, too." I turn to grin at her, holding up the sides of my skirt. "You guys don't exactly dress like people on Earth—Midgard."

_Ask her soon._

She laughs delicately behind her hand. "Nay, I suppose we don't."

We come back around to the entrance and walk by it.

"How was it that you met Thor," Frigga asks quietly.

"Him and" – a sweet, young man's face flashes before my mind's eye and I cringe at the reminder of what I did and said to him – "Steve got me out from underneath the rubble after I woke up. I knew Tony, sorta, and had an idea of who the others were. I met a lot of famous people in my career, so I didn't think anything of it. I didn't have weird dreams or visions until late. That little boy was the most interactive vision I had."

"There were others?"

"I had…dreams. Not visions. The first was about your daughter and Loki racing through the halls to a field. It ended with them sitting under a tree and him reading her a poem. The second was happening during an attack. It was so…intense that I woke up screaming."

From the corner of my eye I see Frigga's chest rise and fall in ragged breaths. She quickly conceals it though. Seeing her eyes, I notice how misty and wide they are.

What I dreamt may be dreams or nightmares to me, but to her they're memories.

_Shit._ I lower my head and close my eyes to block out the whispers and faded visions of painted stories.

"Frigga," I stop walking, bracing myself for Gersemi's body to collide with mine at the sudden stop. It never comes. Sighing, I whip my head up to look at her. A lock of my hair whips back into place.

She stops beside me, the tears gone from her eyes. Instead, they're curious with a quirked up brow. "Yes?" she asks.

"When will I be able to go home? I appreciate Thor going there and telling my roommate and friend not to worry, but I can't stay here. I have a life—a family down there! I promised Thor I'd do my best not to lash out and understand everything you have to offer, and he promised that he wouldn't force me to "remember" anything."

Her shoulders slack with a silent sigh leaving her. She looks off to the side before she says, "My husband is reluctant to let you return to Midgard. He's afraid that you won't be able to control your powers and magic. That and those who survived attacking our palace will take you away again."

My hand itches again at the reminder of the powers I have now. What if I get so mad and out of control that I hurt someone innocent? I can practically feel it tickling under my skin. Still, my family doesn't know where I am. They'll do whatever it takes to bring me back home.

_And I have magic now? Great…._

_Why are you referring the Princess as you? She isn't you, remember?_

"Will I be able to go home with a guide? Someone to watch over me to make sure I don't lose control – like Thor."

"That seems like a marvelous idea. I will speak with my husband about it. Gersemi," she turns to the quiet young woman behind us.

"Aye, Your Majesty?" Both maids behind us cross their hands over their chests and bow at the waist.

"I am going to Gladsheim to sit with my husband's council, please see to Tessa's very need."

"Of course. It would be my honor."

Frigga gives a subtle nod before turning to me. "Will you be joining us for dinner, Tessa? It will only be I, Odin, and Thor again."

I nod, weakly smiling. "Sure. I look forward to it."

When Frigga and her maidservant go pass the curtain, I twirl toward Gersemi smiling the best I can. "So," I begin, "can you give me a tour of this place?"

"Absolutely! Please, follow me."

…

Walking and standing in flats is so nice for a change. Instead of walking or standing in heels for hours on end; my legs feel so relaxed as Gersemi and I walk around the Palace. The pretty young woman tells me what each room is and what it used for. The roles I previously played gives me an idea of what each room is used for when I see them. I don't say anything.

I've seen other buildings, towers a few yards away through the large open windows in the halls. All are tall and empowering – sights to behold – in the sunlight. I saw one structure floating and rotating around each other! How do they do that? I wonder.

"This is our grand library." Gersemi says as she opens a tall double door.

Throughout the tour, she has insisted that she open and close the doors by herself no matter how many times I've offered. The doors are massive and heavy looking.

"Is there a big difference to make it so grand?" I lean to the side to see what lies beyond it. I see a rainbow of spines meshing together as the rows go further back and golden pillars in the large room.

"There is a _grand_ difference." Gersemi grins with a glint in her eyes.

I roll my eyes at her cue word with an easy grin on my face. "Way to play it subtle."

"I'm glad you noticed."

With that, she gives one final hard push to the massive, metal ornate door. She presses her back flat against it and sweeps her arm across the air, gesturing me to step through.

Stepping through the threshold, I'm met with the comforting aroma of old books, leather, and drying ink. There's a faint hint of someone turning thin papers far off somewhere; probably the library. Nothing to worry about.

I'm bathed in warmth when I step into the light of the sun; my smile falters when I look out the window and see a planet and its moon in the sky. I have to swallow a lump in the back of my throat; they nearly scream at me. Saying, _I'm not a part of this world._

During away, I see hundreds upon hundreds of towering shelves full of books. Much like the windows, which have deep navy blue curtains pulled to the sides, these ornate bookshelves rise high and touch the ceiling. Pressing my fingers to the shelf's flat surface; I follow along the rise of a ridge – as high as I can reach. The palm of my hand presses against the dazzling sun and flames. Wall candles rise higher and higher on each bookcase.

"How many books are here, Gersemi?" I ask, walking down the aisle, looking up at the rainbow of spines with golden words. In all of these books, I see boundless opportunities before me. What reside in these books could be the answers I have swimming around in my head. Much like everywhere on Earth this grand place has a palace, magic, historic figures, and a history. This "grand library" holds so many secrets to me that are eager to be brought forth.

"I can't say with certainty, Tessa. I only know that there is a lot," she says as we walk out of the aisle.

There aren't any paintings or statues here, like the last ones. The bookcases are neatly and strategically placed throughout the large, golden room. In the back part of the "grand library," there are three spiraling staircases – one at each corner and one in the middle – to reach the second and third floors.

_So many books._

"May I help you, Princess?"

"Jeez!" I jump, whirling around to the elderly voice.

He's old…very old. Older than Odin it seems. He's probably as old as some of these books no doubt. His hair is brittle, sparse, and white as snow. While he has little on his head, his matching beard falls to his waist, tucked into his belt. With his stooped back it hangs into a stretched out "C." His skin is a brown sugar color, but is weathered like my dad's overly used wallet. Two beady, icy blue eyes stare at me intently waiting for me to answer.

Despite his elderly appearance and limply hanging robes, I get a strong inkling feeling that like the others here, he can fight like a warrior.

"Please," I say smiling, "call me Tessa."

"My apologies, Your Grace, but I cannot allow that."

"What? Why?" Perplexed I look to Gersemi for a reason why.

She steps forward to whisper in my ear, "Randolph is one of Asgard's oldest and wisest men. He is a man of…title, tradition. He deeply respects the Crown and will provide you with whatever you desire in here. No matter how many times you ask him to call you by your name he will not listen. To him, you are the Princess of Asgard. Please, do not dislike him; he is a good man." Her eyes are big and pleading.

With a caring smile, I gently pat her shoulder, matching her soft tone of voice, "Thank you, Gersemi. I won't."

I turn my attention to the patiently waiting man, beaming. "Are you the librarian of this place, Randolph?"

"Aye, I have been for many eons, Princess. While the other libraries here have their own librarians and know their own books, I know every book that passes the main doors."

I blink with wide eyes, shocked by the confession. How many libraries have I seen in the last few hours? How books do those and this library have? Surely there are more than a thousand of them. "Wow…. That is…wow!"

Randolph bows at the waist with a smile on his lips. "Thank you, Your Grace. Will you need anything else?"

"Oh, yes!" I step forward, remembering my earlier thought. "How many books do you have on Asgard's history?"

He lets out a deep sigh, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes flicker back and forth as he counts the invisible book covers. "In this particular library fifteen editions."

I slap my hands together. "May you show me where they are, so I can read them?" I don't think I've been this excited to read something educational.

"Of course, Princess."

He slowly leads Gersemi and me down aisles of towering shelves and up spiraling staircases. He pulls down thick, leather bound books and hands them to Gersemi. She grunts when more and more books being to pile along her chest.

"Here, let me help." I don't wait for her reply as I take a few heavy novels from the top. "Let's go find a place to read these." I jerk my head to the side.

She nods, visibly relaxing now that she doesn't have to carry so much.

"Randolph," he pauses at my call, turning around to face me, "we're going to find a table to place these."

He nods and resumes walking.

We quickly find a small circular table off to the side of the second floor's landing, under a small curved horn chandelier, there's plenty of room for four people to walk by. I grunt when I set the books down on the table. Gersemi does so more gracefully and less noisily than I.

"They're heavier than they look." I wipe away the imaginary sweat from my forehead.

"Indeed. Would you like to begin reading while I assist Randolph? We do not have that many more books to gather."

"Go ahead," I say pulling out a chair, "I'll be right here."

Gersemi bows with her leave, going back the way we came.

Very carefully I pull the old looking book with the golden engraved six on the spine. The hard cover clunks on the wooden table despite me being careful. I flip to the Table of Contents. My eyes follow the words and their pages, looking for something that pops out and has to do with the Aesir history. The first page is the history, but I have to sate my curiosity first. I blink when I see, in all caps and a type of bold print with an elegant script, **TORTURE MECHANISMS.**

Like all human beings, my curiosity rises and I read what's below it.

_Blood Eagle._

_Brazen Bull._

_Breast Ripper._

_Coffin Torture._

The list goes on and on.

No matter how far down I look, I keep glancing back at blood eagle. I drum fingers along the table's edge, contemplating of what I should do. Just as I'm about to turn to the given page number more books are placed in front of me.

Having been abruptly taken out of my deep state of wonder, I jump in my seat, while making an unladylike sound in the back of my throat.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, are you all right?" Gersemi is at my side at once. Her gentle hands place themselves on my shoulders.

"Yes, I'm fine." I pat her hand. "Are these the last of them?"

"Aye," Randolph says tiredly, "and it seems you got quite a bit of reading to do, Princess. May I suggest you start with the first edition?" He gently taps on the largest and thickest book on the table. There's only the barest hint of a grin on his lips and mirth in his eyes.

"Oh my Gawd! How many pages are in this thing?" I rise up and slide the book closer to me, peering at the Contents.

"Nearly two-thousand, I believe. The words are rather small, as well."

_Fantastic._ I make a small, squeak-like sound in the back of my throat with eyes wide open. Opening it, I thumb through the pages; watching the numbers quickly and fluidly change to smaller and smaller numbers.

"Please, enjoy your reading, Your Grace." Randolph bows and slowly walks his way back down to the front desk.

"Thank you, I will." I tell him, watching him leave.

"Is there any way for me to help you, Tessa?" Gersemi stands beside me, eyes pleading.

"Sure, if you can read some of these books and take notes as you go. I think I saw some sheets of paper and…a quill and ink over there." I gesture a way towards the end of the aisle. There seems to be a desk at the end of every isle.

"Of course!" she chirps, rushing to where I waved my hand.

Call me crazy or wary, or whatever, but I will not trust a person's word while their previous words are written and unchanged.

So I sit and read; my eyes growing tired at the amount of small and curving words. I take periodic breaks to rest them and my mind. My knowledge of the gods and goddesses here are slowly increasing. I try to retain it all.

Besides their captions and pages are their pictures; beautiful and bright or disgusting and dark. Each strand of hair, blade of grass, leaf in the trees, and bit of dirt are painstakingly painted onto the pages. The weapons they hold, their armor (shining or soaked with blood), the sun or moon and stars, and wisp of smoke seem to move and dazzle in moving golden or silver light. When I see more and more pictures of the gods or goddesses and their times of battle, I desperately wish to meet the artist. The artwork almost seems alive – moving and breathing.

In my studies, I don't take much snacks or drinks. I end up skipping lunch that Gersemi so kindly reminded me of. It's more important that I find some answers.

Past more battles and such, somewhere in the middle, it mentions the Princess. A heavy stone settles in my gut with a thick band wrapping tightly around my mind. I start to read more slowly when I come to her personal page. I have to let the words sink in. I have to ignore this sense of foreboding – ignore the fluttering images of her-me-not me smiling and laughing and dancing.

I see her running in a wide open field. Long golden hair (longer than mine) swaying, waving behind her – practically sparkling and shimmering. The salmon, layered, chiffon skirt brushes against the blades of grass.

Laughing, she turns around. My face is smiling and her abnormally bright blue eyes are glimmering.

The bodice is light salmon with a very low cut, just passing her breasts. There's a wide a bejeweled copper belt synching her waist; dipping past her hips and just past the last rib. The metalwork travels up, splinting from the middle of the belt, over her shoulders. Thin bronze metals dress – and bounce as she runs – across her chest. My silver key necklace – something I've always worn – is free as she runs away from the friendly assailant.

She twirls back around.

Shaking my head, the heavy rock rattles and leaves my head. I have to keep reading.

_"Goddess of Peace and Lightning,"_ it says beneath her name. It goes into more detail in the body of the passage. _"The only daughter of Odin, the second born, the younger twin of Thor, is well known for her gentle heart and kind soul, much like her youngest brother Balder,"_ – I make a mental note to look up who Balder is – _"always wanting to do the right things and protect those in need. The peace she harbors will ease the restless hearts of men and beast. She is the Peacekeeper between her two brothers – Thor and Loki. Many a time she alone broke them apart from their disagreements."_

There are illustrations of her and the deeds she has done. A headache hammers at my head relentlessly; it's a powerful bam after bam. My hands tremble and my palms begin to sweat. I push back my hair from my face; ignoring the tight feeling of it being pushed back with sweating hands.

My chest begins to rise and fall with heavy breaths as it constricts when I see her portrait taking up an entire page. Her heart shaped face is framed by long golden wavy hair, there's a Mona Lisa smile on her pale pink lips, and blue eyes surrounded by black lashes.

_She looks exactly like me._

A sharp pain stabs at the forefront of my mind, followed by a slow crushing force. Instinctively, I hold in a yelp and cradle my head between both of my suddenly clammy hands. The world blurs with burning tears pin-pricking at my eyes from this searing pain in my skull. I can't even make out the picture or words in front of me.

Covering my face, I close my eyes to allow the tears to stream down my face.

_Control your breathing, Tessa_ , I tell myself. I desperately try not to gasp or sob or cry out from this pain and this…cold feeling in my gut. What will Gersemi do if she seems me like this?

My throat closes; allowing the tiniest of tiny whines to pass my lips.

Golden hair falls around me like a curtain when I lower myself to press my forehead against the book.

I see her. I see this young woman with my face and my body dressed in the gowns and skirts that are in her closet. I see my necklace hanging from her neck.

The situations change so quickly in my mind it hurts. Over and over again I see her standing between Thor and Loki with her hands pressed against their chest and concern in her eyes. Thor and Loki are yelling at one another it seems; the veins in their necks bulging out and their teeth are bared like their some wild animal.

I see her standing besides Thor, hugging Thor, laughing with Thor, and training with Thor with such earnest love in her eyes it hurts me know that she was taken from them. In each of these, Thor always has an arm draped over her shoulders.

I see her with Loki – walking with him, hugging him, laughing with him, and practicing magic with him. Just like Thor, Loki smiles down at her gently with adoration to which goes unnoticed.

These…visions…happen in snap-shots. Blinding, bright, and soundless. I see them, hear them, yet I have no recollection of being there. And her voice, her voice! MY VOICE!

Screwing my eyes shut, I attempt to block it all out. I try to calm all thoughts in my head that are spinning out of control. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!_

_"How does it feel to know that your entire life has been taken away from you and your existence on Midgard has been all a lie?"_

"Tessa?"

Gersemi is shaking my shoulder, urging me to lift my head. I do so, rubbing my eyes; playing that I've fallen asleep. I quickly rid any traces of tears. They burn when I open my eyes after a series of long blinks. But, I'm happy that my face isn't wet and she doesn't say anything.

"What happened?" I look up at her, blinking away the blurriness. With each blink everything becomes clearer.

"You fell asleep." She has a smile on her lips.

"I did?" Looking around the grand room I see that it's dimmer than it was before. The open windows reveal the sunset painted sky.

"Aye." Her smile widens into a fox-like grin, matching the playful gleam in her eye. "Is our history that boring to you?"

I laugh, while shaking my head. "No! No, of course not! I just had to close my eyes for a second. I didn't think I'd fall asleep." A flickering snap-shot of her fades away from my eyes; I close my eyes and rub my temples.

"It's almost supper time, too."

"Right." I get up and stretch – arching my back like a cat. "And I promised them I'd eat with them. Crap, did that include lunch?"

"Once they have learned why you did not show, they did not mind as much. It took much of his companions, but Thor folded and did not visit. Though he wished he was able to pull you away from these books and show you around the village."

"The village?" I risk a quick glance at her when I find a suitable bookmark. There's a far off look in her eyes and her smile has fallen.

"Aye." She nods. "You were only given a brief tour of the palace today, my apologizes, and you wished to read. I did not want to go against that."

"It's okay, Gersemi, really. Perhaps another time and perhaps you could join us."

"I'd be delighted to."

"Awesome! Did you gather a lot of notes?"

"Aye, quite a few." She hands me sheets of paper decorated with dry black ink writing.

"Thank you." I slide the pieces of paper in with my marked page. I hold the first rendition of Asgard's history close to my chest. "What should we do with these books?" I wave my hand over the other books.

"I suggest we leave them be. Randolph does not take to kindly when they are misplaced after their use. He prefers that if we do not know where they go, he put them away."

Nodding I tell her, "Okay."

Gersemi leads me down the way we came from in the hall after I made it known to Randolph that I'm borrowing the first edition book of Asgard's history. Gersemi adds a few more details about certain places or gestures towards the town and speaks of the type of goods they sell to neighboring village and the type of weaponry they make.

My surroundings start to look familiar when I hear a very loud and boisterous, "Tessa!"

Thor's massive hand clamps down on my shoulder. He's grinning from ear to ear.

"Thor!" I shout up at him, jokingly matching his tone of voice, and wrap my arm around his waist. His hand slides across my shoulders to hug me. Completely ignoring how strong he feels under his clothes. "It's good to see you. Sorry I missed you today." It truly is good to see a familiar face that isn't painted in books or causes a blinding pain in my head.

"It's quite all right. I see you have done some light reading." He gently taps the exposed pages. "Find anything interesting?"

"I have. I found more than I thought I would." I hold the book closer to my chest, knowing that my face and body is in there. _If I open to that page again, will those images come back again?_ Gersemi says that it is not uncommon for a woman to use magic. Someone must have used their magic to hide those passages during my…her…my absence.

He holds up the deep red curtains, the guards bow at our entrance. Feeling a pair of eyes on me I look over my shoulder as we enter. I spot a very beautiful young woman with dark raven hair dressed as a warrior – silver armor is on her with a pleated red skirt and tall black boots. She smiles at me and crosses her right arm across her chest, bowing lightly. I smile in return, nodding at her.

Odin and Frigga turn to greet us. Frigga smiles at us with a kind glimmer in her eyes, while the barest of smiles (or is it a smirk) tugs at the corners of Odin's lips. The garden is as it was before; mostly green with blasts of brilliant color from the flowers with glowing golden accents. The setting sun bathes the room bright pink and shades of red.

"Tessa," Frigga says softly, greeting me with a hug. "How was your day? Did you enjoy yourself?" With a gentle hand she leads me to the table full of food. Although the touch is light, practically nonexistent, I'm still acutely aware of it on my lower back. Where Thor held me and where I held onto him, still burns. It itches, too, like some reminder that I should not be so aware of their friendly and kind hands.

"It was fine, thank you. I learned a lot during my tour of your palace. Gersemi knows a lot." I smile at her while taking my seat. A young servant carefully takes my book away, placing it on a nearby trolley.

"We should hope so; she has lived here for some millennia." Frigga sits across from me. Everyone sits – or stands – where they sat this morning.

"Millennia?" I look at them all, seeing how young they are. Yes, Odin and Frigga's age appearance are notable but they don't seem to be millennia old. They'd be dead, won't they?

"We are not from Midgard," starts Odin, looking at me up and down. I absentmindedly begin to wring my hands together under the table. "We're not human. But we live and die as much they do."

"But your lives are longer and you have superpowers?"

"Not all of the Aesir have been blessed with powers or magic." Thor says after gathering a mountain of food on his plate.

"Those who reside in Asgard and have magic live with us – either as a Lady, Lord, or high serving servant, a handmaiden of sorts such as Gersemi. If they have a special power, and hone it so that it becomes a part of them, then they can be qualified as a God or Goddess as we all have." Frigga explains, gesturing to those of us around the table. Myself included. "It will undoubtedly take years to perfect and gain notice; however, once they are perfected they will be noticed."

I take a gulp of my drink to ease my dry tongue; relishing in the sweet taste.

"And I have those…powers." I play with the food I gathered and swishing the contents in my cup. My brows furrow together when I see a golden tint in my clear drink again. _It must be the setting sun or torch light or something._

"Aye," Odin's reply is weak, eye flickering at me. "They're taking hold of you again – the lightning and soon the magic."

Again, I hide my hands from view, itching at my palm. I haven't felt any form of heat, cling, static, or anything that involves lightning or anything that has to deal with magic.

My shoulders tense when I see her…me…her pulling away from someone in black and green, his dark hair hiding his face, and lighting shoots from her hands. The ache in my head is quick – a blink really – and I see Odin, Frigga, Thor, and everyone else.

Odin continues, "My wife has spoken of you returning to Midgard. It would be unsafe for you or others if you return now."

"I _have_ to go home! I have a life there, family, friends, and a career."

"Father, you cannot simply keep her here forever. She _has_ to return!"

Thor and I argue together at the old King. We continue to argue at him until he raises his hand to silence us. We do; I have to bite my tongue from lashing out. Instead, I glare angrily at him. Ignoring Loki's words worming themselves in my head again.

"We have not yet discovered how, but you will be able to return to Midgard and learn how to use your abilities here."

My brows knit together as skepticism creeps in. "And that's it? Nothing else?"

"That is the main component, aye." Odin glances at the book I brought in, and then back at me. "Surely you're curious about our daughter, her relations to the people, the other Realms. Something our books cannot tell you."

Hidden from everyone's view, my nails bite into the palms of my hand, while my face remains cold and my breathing even. Odin is using my curiosity – my fear – against me. He knows what's in that book – he has to! He knows I spoke with Loki, so that must me he found out about the lightning shooting from my hand. That those "powers" of mine are getting stronger.

Closing my eyes, I nod, biting my lower lip. I can't…go. Not yet.

Opening my eyes I ask, "When will I be able to return home?"

"As soon as we find a way to do so – without any harm to you – you may return."

"Thank you."

We all eat our food.

…

As I ready for bed, everything seems surreal. The harder I try to forget what happened, the more the dull ache creeps in. Instead, I think of Odin's words. In a way, he said I'll be going home.

_That'll show Loki. Shut him up, too._

With great expertise I reach behind myself and clip the back of the nightgown in place. I bend and work my arms to tie the bows that act like sleeves on top of my shoulders. The ends of the satin bows flow down past my hips a little ways. The fitted top is a light, baby shade of pink with a thick band of white at the sweetheart neckline and waist. From the waist band a flowy, chiffon-like pink skirt that pools around my feet.

"Hard to believe this is a nightgown." I mutter to myself. "Then again, everything seemed too tight around the arms. Long sleeves." I stick my tongue out at the thought of wearing tight, satiny sleeves for sleep with the high, suffocating neckline. I'll have to take care of that in the morning, or, at the very least, search for warm whether pajamas.

Ruffling my hair with a towel one final time, I hang the fluffy towel on the rack and unplug the tub. There's a large beige rug with a decorated border embedded into the onyx and white marble floor that arches over where the matching circular tub rises. I walk on it towards the large square mirror above the glass table with lotions and oils on it. I dry the bottoms of my feet in the process. After splitting my hair and brushing it (with a beautiful antique hairbrush), I gather it all on left shoulder for a braid. I tie it off tightly with a leather band.

It's weird not using a normal hair tie, like I normally do. This leather band doesn't have any give to it.

Gersemi has left when I reenter the bedroom. The fireplace, torches, and candles are blazing with life all over the room; leaving no tall corner in shadows. Looking up at the extremely high ceiling I see even that is alight. I smile.

The bed is unmade with the princess doll keeping the pillow warm. The thick book has been placed on the desk upon our arrival.

"I'll read that tomorrow." I mutter, shaking my head and getting into bed, too tired to do much at this point. Not physically, of course. Mentally. Emotionally. Too many thoughts and feelings are whirling inside me, like a tornado. After dinner, I just wanted to curl into a ball sleep. The longer the meal went on the more intense the pain in my head became and the lights too bright. I haven't seen her…me…her during dinner, thankfully. However, I could feel them creeping in.

_I just need to sleep. Sleep makes everything better._

Under the covers, my legs become entangled with the ridiculously long skirt. Reaching under the bedding, I bunch it all together around my knees; hoping I'll be more comfortable. It works – sorta. Less annoying than having your entire legs trapped.

I'm curled up under the covers, holding the doll close to me, just on the edge of sleep, when I hear someone screaming. My eyes snap open and I fretfully look around the well-lit room. Odin told me that not much sound reaches this side of the palace.

I bolt up with wide, terrified eyes, gasping when I hear it again.

Hearing it a third time I whip my head back and forth; searching for any monsters that might be hiding. _They can't be in here, though, it's not dark!_ I even look under the bed like a child. There aren't any monsters under it. Not even a dust bunny.

The screams sound like they're everywhere.

I scream, grasping my head and falling back onto the bed; trying to block out the pain stabbing at my head. The Princess sits in front of her vanity with a sewing need and thread, a candle by her side and reflecting in the light. She threads the ribbon into the tiny hole, before rolling the needle in the flame, only pulling it out when it's white hot and steaming. Her eyes show a flicker of fear in them. There's someone screaming – male. The fear is gone and resolution takes its place. She presses the needle to her lower lip.

The movements were jerky and fast, as if bits of the moment were missing. Just wanting to get to the point.

_"The room and hall are full of memories. I would not be surprised if those memories started coming to life."_

I'm gasping and sweating when the snap-shots abruptly stop. It's not them; it's just the knives in my head when they come.

Another scream has me turning my head towards the door.

Another…then another…then another…then another….

"Fuck it!" I yell, jumping up to my feet on the bed. (The shakiness in my legs is only cause of the bed's bounciness.)

Gathering my skirt I run off the bed with a kick and run towards the door. Wrenching a torch from besides it, I throw the wooden door open with a bang and all but fly down the winding steps.

When I reach the last few steps, I jump, continuing to run to where I hear the continuous painful screams. I hold up a side of my skirt in one hand and the torch high above my head with the other. The torch lights a small circle around me; fending off any monstrosities that are causing these screams.

"Princess?" a guard asks when I pass by.

"Follow me!" I don't look back at them. The rapid clinking of their armor and heavy footfalls are the only indications that they're following me.

How many times have my mom and dad raced down the hall when the power went out and I woke up in darkness, screaming for them? Or when I feared that a monster was in my room? Far too many times in my younger youth to count.

One night I swore I saw something or someone in my room. When I was seven, and Wolfheart attacked it, my dad broke down the door to save me – a shotgun in hand. The thing was gone when my parents came in, but Wolfheart's jaw was bloodied and the corner of my room was too. Cameras and motion lights were installed after that incident; surrounding the outside of our house and the perimeter of our property. And for three years after that my dad and Wolfheart walked along the perimeter of our yard with a shotgun, hand guns at the hip, and a pair of machetes strapped to his back. I tried to be brave when I slept in my own bed, but somehow, I always found myself in my parents' room the next morning.

Now here I am running at night with a small group of guards, running towards someone screaming. Funny how life works out.

"Princess, what's wrong?" the same guard asks in urgency.

"Someone's screaming!"

There's a brief pause in our verbal exchange.

"No one is screaming, Your Grace."

It sickens me how calm he said that. If it be because there is someone screaming and they choose to ignore it or because they might actually be right.

"I hear screaming! Someone's screaming!"

I know it. I can hear it and I can feel it. A chill settled into my spine and bones at the first outlet. It grew more intense as each scream became louder and louder in my room, echoing in my head with the…vision, or whatever the hell it was, until I ran out. Now it's just a settlement in my body. With that came an overwhelming need to save that person. Help whoever it may be.

We round a tight corner. I catch myself from falling, never stopping to steady myself.

"Princess, you are heading towards the dungeons."

By now more guards have instinctively followed us. Their combined torches leave a rather large circle of light around us.

With me leading them.

"I don't care!" I shot back, rapidly stepping down each and every step until the last few. I jump from them again; landing elegantly on my feet.

"Let me in!" I angrily shout at the guards standing in front of the door, panting heavily. Suddenly the top of this nightgown feels too tight.

"No one but Tandril, Odin AllFather, and Prince Thor are allowed in. Go back to your rooms, girl." The guard on the right snootily states, looking down at me with his hawk-like nose in the air.

Another scream. They all have grown more and more painful. It breaks my heart to hear it.

"Take care how you speak, _boy_." The guard who has spoken to me steps to my side, glaring at the man before us. "This is the Princess of Asgard – her father is Odin AllFather and her _twin_ brother is Prince Thor."

"Lord Tyr!" Both of the men stand alert and bow deeply at the waist.

Snapping back up, the guard on the right says, "Please forgive us, we have not heard the news." He pauses, fearful. "The King has forbad anyone but those mentioned from entering."

My arms are trembling with repressed rage. "I will deal with Odin and any punishments he gives. Now, _please_ , let me _in_!"

He hesitates, before saying, "Of course."

Very quickly both guards throw open the doors. My arms shake when I step into the threshold meeting a muffled and agonizing sounding scream. It's still so loud, piercing in my head. Unlike the last time I was here, the room is brightly lit.

My eyes scan up the filthy path, until they land on the far end. I see men dressed in gold making a wall, facing the portly man whipping a lean man's back.

"What are you doing," I scream in outrage, letting the torch slip through my fingers. Gathering my skirts in both hands I rush forward. The portly man (Tandril most likely) doesn't stop hitting the man at my cry or even though the victim's back is in bloody ribbons and a red gushing mass. The wall of men turn to face me – stunned.

I elbow my through, ignoring their voices and pulling my arms free from their grasps. The glimpses of Tandril's back become more frequent as I get closer to them. The victim lets out another pained, muffled shriek. My breath catches in my throat.

I burst through the last few guards screaming, "Stop!" I throw myself between them. Yanking Tandril's raised down and away. "Stop this!" I raise my hand to his face, and, for the briefest moment, I hope lightning will spark from my hand and onto his face.

Before I can realize it, Tandril hits me across my jaw; sending me to the floor. Through the ringing of my ears and spinning vision, I hear the distinct sound of swords being unsheathed.

"Don't," I scream at the guards, rubbing my jaw. It doesn't feel as stiff as should be. The guards slowly sheath their weapons.

The man called Tyr carefully helps me up, asking if I'm okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I blink away the spots and swaying figures.

"How dare you strike the Princess." Tyr growls at torturer with fire in his brown eyes.

"There is no Princess! And _she_ ," he spat, "had come between me and this filth." He jerks his head to the deadly still man behind me.

I tear myself away from Tyr and stagger to the still person, rounding to stand in front of him. Through all the blood, bruises, and disfigurement I recognize the one sharp cheekbone and two glassy green eyes. It takes everything I have not to scream.

_Loki?_

My fingers tremble when I gingerly cup his sleek, bloody face. He flinches away; only to relax when I don't do anything further. Very carefully, with a feather's touch, I trace my thumb along the bloody ribbon along his lips. His lips are sewn shut. He looks down at me at the touch – a blank look turns to fear, which melts to recognition.

"Loki," I whimper with tears in my eyes, holding his face a smidgen bit tight. Gazing down at his torso, I see deep whip and gash marks on it through his now red tunic. I look back up in his eyes.

Even though he said what he said, and done what he's done, does he have to go through this? How long was this happening?

This is real. This isn't some acting role I've gotten; it's all too real. I can smell and taste the copper in the air. I can feel the dull throb in my jaw, and where the thread weaves in and out from Loki's lips. I can feel the slick blood oozing out from beneath my fingers and the rise and fall of the bumps and gashes on him. This man – Tandril – has done this to him.

Dread turns to rage and loathing. The feelings make me tremble, wanting to strike out at Tandril for his ill-mannerisms.

"You ignorant son of a bitch," I snarl, tearing from Loki with sparks at my fingertips. "You go and speak with Odin if this upsets you. But, you will not harm this man!" By now, I'm nose to nose with this disgusting man. (I hold back the urge to vomit all of him at his odor.) I desperately wish I could strike him. "Give Tyr your keys and leave."

I feel a great deal of satisfaction at the sight of fear in his eyes.

"Your keys, Tandril." It's hard to miss the smug satisfaction on Tyr's face as he holds out his hand, waiting for the keys.

I look back and forth between the torturer and the victim, slowly inching my way back to the later. I have to make sure he's staying with us.

Tandril glares at me for a handful of minutes, before he begrudgingly slaps the ring of keys into Tyr's awaiting hand. He storms out, very few of the inmates weakly cheer, and slams the heavy door with a shuttering bang.

"Release him, now!" I quickly run in front of Loki, carefully cradling his face again. "Everything's going to be okay now," I whisper to him.

There's still the loving recognition in his eyes. He tries to smile, only to end up wincing when the stitches pull at his lips. Strands of his dark hair fall in front of his face when he lowers his head.

"Just a moment, Your Grace." Tyr tries several keys before he finds the right one.

I look behind Loki to the mass of guards standing about. "Two of you find the goddess named Eir and four of you go seek Odin if Tandril hasn't already and tell him I need to speak with him when I'm done here."

"Oh-Ha!" the stand alert, stomping their feet together. The selected few march out to complete their tasks.

Just as they leave I let out a yelp and quickly, instinctively, catch Loki as he falls. My legs buckle at the sudden added weight. The palm of my hand and stretch of my forearm touch something soft and squishy, while the tips my fingers graze against something hard along his upper back. Loki barely lets out a whimper in my ear. He buries his face in my neck. His body is taken over by short, weak trembles.

This is not the man who I've spoken to last night.

"Princess—!" Tyr and the guards go to catch me.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! Just gotta…lower…ourselves…to the ground…." I let out a sigh when I'm able to sit down comfortably. I have to ignore the blood seeping over my arms, chest, neck, and into my dress, which sticks to my legs, and the give and slickness of his face on my shoulder.

I rest Loki's head on my lap, his tattered and shredded back facing upward, tenderly rearranging him so that I may see his lips. I try to ignore the flashes of white beneath the red and torn muscle and skin. Tremors take hold of Loki's hand as he raises it to rest it on my own. There isn't a grip, yet the presence of it is very heavy.

I turn my hand, so that our palms meet and curl my fingers around his hand.

I stare at his whipped and gushing back with tears pinpricking behind my eyes. I quickly blink and swipe them away with the palm of my hand. I screw them shut when a pounding ache in my head beats at the forefront of my mind. The snap-shows the Princess, again, with her lips sewn shut – bloody and in pain; however she doesn't sob or cry out.

That's it, it came and it went.

With the tears no longer clouding my sight and the pain gone, I see the muscles of his back are threading back together.

"Tyr," I call out weakly, I only know who he is, "if the need should arise, please restrain him?"

"Of course, Princess." He stands just a bit straighter, hand ready to grasp and wrestle Loki into submission. His single hand.

The others behind him appear the same way.

Having just been beaten, cut, whipped, tortured, I don't ask for anything sharp, like a dagger. It can only worsen Loki's state of mind. _I'll…I'll just have to pick at it. Use my nails._

"Loki." I carefully turn his head upward again, inwardly sighing with relief that the knot is facing me. "Loki, I need you to stay very still for me. Okay? I'm gonna get those stitches out for you." Ever so slowly, I inch my fingers up to his lips.

There was recognition in his eyes, and if the…visions are true he should trust me. Right? If he doesn't trust Tessa, he should trust his sister. Even when she went missing, those memories must still be with him like Thor's are.

There's a flicker of fear on his bloodied and broken face.

"It's going to be okay," I whisper lovingly, combing my fingers through his wet red and black hair. "It's going to be okay."

His green eyes flutter shut and his body relaxes at the touch.

Loki, the Loki I spoke to, isn't here. This is a Loki who remembers the gentle and loving words and caresses of a sister he's lost. He loves her, that much I know. I saw him teaching her magic, magic she didn't know; ice and destructive spells.

He felt…feels…felt at peace with her. Just as he is now.

_Peace. Peaceful. Peacefully. Be at peace._ I chant to myself, hoping the calming thoughts will invade his body and stay there.

_Be careful_ , says the smarter half of me, _remember what he said last night? This guy is a trickster, he could attack you._

_No, he won't. He's weak and outnumbered._

"I need to get those out now, Loki."

Loki takes a shuttering breath, faux bravery on his face, before he nods. Very quickly and very gently I tug at the tight knot, at the corner of his mouth, with the edge of my thumb nail and index finger. I keep my other hand cupped on his cheek. I make slow work at the knot; nearly whooping with glee when it comes undone. I settle for a soft, drawn-out, "Yes…!"

The corners of Loki's mouth barely quirk upward. A glimmer of some emotion passes over his eyes when he looks up at me.

I start to chew on my lower lip as I slide the thread through the tiny, forcefully made holes along his lips. I flinch for him at the feeling; noting how the inside of the circles pull inward and the tug of his lips. I can only imagine how the ache and throb he's feeling. _I wish I could do some kind of magic to help._

"What in the name of Odin's Beard is going on here?" yells a woman's voice, shocked and outraged.

I fish the last bit of the thread out from Loki's mouth. He closes his eyes and his mouth falls open slightly, chest heaving up and down with deep gasping breaths.

"Eir," a gruff voice sounds, "the Princess has found the Trickster." He goes to explain how I ran down the halls and found him in such a state. Yelling at Tandril, too.

"Damn that man." She growls, rushing towards us, sliding on her knees. "Get him propped up. Your Grace," she says more gently, nodding at me, "please keep him distracted."

I almost asked how she wants me to do that, until I remember my "title." I nod, keeping my gentle hold on his face thinking peaceful thoughts to feed him. I don't know how else to do it.

No words are spoken between any of us. The guards keep a watchful eye on Loki, hands on the pommel of their swords, gaze flickering between the three of us. Loki and I keep our gaze steady. I only glance over his shoulder when I see an obvious glow coming from behind him, returning to look in his steely green eyes when I'm satisfied that he isn't being hurt anymore. Glancing down at his chest, I see the magic seeping through his body to heal his chest as well. It rises to his face, too.

The bones on his face rise and reposition themselves and meld with each other. The lacerations shallow out until there isn't even a line left.

Loki stands strong – proud even – as if he just wasn't terrified or screaming, pleading for his torture to end. The tiny holes in his lips are no more now that he's fixed up. He smirks down at me. "I suppose you want me back in my cell." His voice sounds hoarse. It isn't life-threatening; thus, it wasn't healed.

"I think that would be for the best." I tell him, looking him up and down. I'm not completely sure if he spoke to me or the guardsmen around Eir and me.

I watch as he's escorted back into his cell and shrugs on a tunic.

"Princess," the guards that I have ordered to find Odin return.

"The AllFather has agreed to speak with you – now."

"Thank you. You four take me to him, the rest of you stay here and guard Loki incase Tandril returns. If I even hear the slightest whisper that any of you harm him or the other inmates you _will_ answer to me. Is that understood?" I look at each of them; staring them down and feeling the tickle of lightning at my palms.

"Princess," – Tyr steps forward – "I ask that I come with you."

"And I ask that you stay here," I say, looking at all the faces. "Please."

"Very well," he says with apprehension in his voice. He crosses his arm across his chest and bows at the waist.

The four guards flank either side of me when Tyr stands in front of Loki's locked cage. There's only a bit of smugness on the Trickster God's face, a smirk on his lips. All the soft, tenderness is gone.

"Take me to Odin." I order.

…

"Princess," Eir says, "may I suggest that you change?" I need to have her come with me, to give her professional input on the scene in which she arrived.

I bunch the sticky chiffon in my fists speedily walking down the halls, nearly running, down the halls. The guards keep a steady pace, leading me.

"I'd rather not; there isn't enough time. 'Sides it might make a point." Dry blood coats my arms, hands, chest, and the thighs on my nightgown and skin. All over the front of my body I'm coated in it. I smell like it. The time Loki was on me, or vise versa, his blood has seeped through my clothes.

"You know what you're going to say?"

"Yes. He's gonna get an earful, too."

"Please," Eir begs, "take care of how you speak."

Guards open the double doors as we step forward. A herald is standing near the doors when we enter. He walks beside the guards, his voice ringing through the high room, "My King and Queen, may I present to you—"

"I can announce myself, but thank you," I say as kindly as possible. I wave my hands up the air, the long skirt automatically sticks to my legs as it flows down, showing just how much blood is on me. "Presenting Tessa Maberry, of New Jersey and New York!" I mock shout at them. I stop just at the bottom step of the throne, glowering at the one eyed man, the cosmic light pouring in and created a Nordic design on the floor around me.

"Wh…where did all that blood come from," Frigga asks in absolute shock with wide eyes. Mortification and astonishment radiates off of her in waves. She keeps her arms tight against her stomach. Her skin visibly lightens until its ash gray in color.

"Tandril has been torturing your son."

"What?" Frigga looks down at her husband, shaking.

"Father," Thor rumbles, stepping forward, "does Tessa speak the truth?"

Neither of them knew? It was Odin's orders to have him tortured, it had to be. He is their king; he gives the orders. He allowed his own son to be tortured.

Odin keeps his gaze steadily on me; unaffected by those around him. "He has created a crime – nearly succeeded in a worldly genocide and attempted to enslave the people of Midgard. Now, we are near the edge of war because of him. Those of Midgard are out for his blood. His crimes cannot go unpunished. Here, he will face a just punishment for his crimes."

"I would not have him tortured by some sick fuck that enjoys his job too much." My words come out like venom; thick, oozing, and poisoning to hear. Filling the inside of people's heads until it seeps into the sutures of the skull and into the brain. "No one knows why he did what he did, but it has to be for a good reason."

"And how do you know this?"

"I just do."

A voice, soft and delicate, much like my own, whispers in my head, _"I will always love you, my Little Loki. In the good and the bad – I will fight for you. I know you."_

"You've only met him last night and for a few mere moments. He even exchanged harsh words with you, and yet you defend him."

"I heard his screams and saw his back shredded – tattered, torn, bloody. His chest was decorated in whip marks and slashes. His face gashed and bruised. It amazes me that he endured it while conscious."

"That's impossible. No sound can reach the Eastern Tower."

"I heard them loud and clear. They led me to the dungeons where Tandril was torturing him – whipping his back as if he enjoyed it. That is why I'm like this." I hold out my bloodied arms, gesturing up and down my deep red nightgown. "I helped him, despite what he did three months ago. Why would you do that to your own son?"

Tandril, who isn't here, had to have gotten the okay from somebody, and the only one high enough to give such an order is Odin. Frigga and Thor seemed surprised, even sickened by the thought. How could they not have heard him?

My fists begin to shake uncontrollably.

"He is not of my blood—"

"Family doesn't end in blood!" My scream echoes off the high walls with a flash of lightning and boom of thunder and the sudden _whoosh_ of rain water outside. "If there is one thing I've learned on Midgard with _my_ family – the people who _adopted_ me, raised me – that is it! _You_ are the one that took him in when no one else would! _You_ are the one that held him! _You_ are the one to smile down at him first in love and pride! _You_ are the one that decided to raise him beside your other children! If _anyone_ is to blame for the way he is now, Odin AllFather," his name comes out like poison on my lips and tongue, "it is you."

"Silence!" Odin bolts up from his throne at my pointed insult. His loud, chilling order rings through the enormous room mixing with my own words.

"No, I will not be silent! What happened on Earth was bad, worse than bad actually, I'll admit but that was months ago! And in that allotted time _you_ have been torturing him! God only knows how his mental state is, too, so with the physical pain there's the mental state of him. He is _your_ adopted son, Odin. Frigga _is_ his mother and Thor is his brother. Have you fallen out of love from his heinous crimes? While neither of them has?"

Hot, fat tears are rolling down my face in steady rivers as I remember the pain and frustration I felt as a child and young woman. Far too many times in my youth, children pointed out how different I was from my parents. I did learn about genetics in school and I realized, then, that not a single relative was blonde and blue eyed.

One of my eldest cousins even pointed out that I was unwanted by everyone when I was younger. To this day, I can hear him yelling at my younger self. _"How could Abe and Rosabella love you? Look at you! You're nothing like them! Not even your biological parents wanted you. They threw you aside. They hated you! We all hate you!"_ I only wanted to follow him and the others to Wawa; I thought they were cool. No one spoke on my behalf.

I block out what happened to me when I ran away from them all in tears.

No matter how hard I tried to look for my biologic parents, when I got older, I couldn't find them. I even checked outside America. It was only when I started making a name for myself did claims come in. All false.

"My parents," I weakly start again, "are the ones that took me in, to smile down at me in love and pride, and they raised me as if I was their own flesh and blood. They made me the woman I am today." Hands trembling, tears slowing to a stop, I stand with a straight back staring up at Odin.

The AllFather looks down at me with an unreadable expression. His eye looks over my form; drawing in on all the blood.

_"Odin will not let you go."_

There's a subtle twitch in Odin's hands. "Then tell me, Tessa Maberry, what would you have me do?"

"Stop the torture; none of us know what happened to him or why he did what he did. Place him in a nicer, brighter…, place without having to worry about someone hurting him or putting him near death. Your son," I look between Odin and Frigga, "and brother," I glance at Thor, "is still in there. Somewhere. There was a realization in his eyes when I held him and took the stitches out from around his mouth." Even now, as I vouch for Loki, I can see the anguish and desperation in his teary eyes.

Thor closes his eyes and lowers his head, grimacing in pain at the image.

Frigga places her hand over her heart, closing her eyes.

"He seems to like to talk. You can slowly reintroduce him into society." I look at everyone, waiting for them to say or do something – hopeful. "It will take time, but he has time. Millennia, in fact. You said so yourself, Odin, at dinner."

Why am I putting so much faith in one man? A man that told me I will never leave here and that my life on Midgard was over and attacked my city and ordered those alien things around. He didn't even seem to regret it when he told me. Even with those unreadable or mixed expressions from late yesterday.

Seeing him though, a son of Odin, he is one even if he and Odin deny it, like that with his back red and gushing blood with red fleshy ribbons caused something inside me to break. The steadily bleeding gashes on his chest and the blood seeping onto me had someone screaming at me to hold him and protect him. He seemed so weak and helpless in that moment.

"Odin." Frigga steps forward and gently speaks in her husband's ear. Her long hair, which is braided over her shoulder like my own, hides what she says.

Thor looks torn. His eyes flicker back and forth as he gazes down at the floor. How many times has he tried to save or protect Loki? Hoping beyond hope that the Loki he knows is still with him somehow?

"Tessa," Odin's voice rings out.

I click my heels together; noting that my feet are bare and sore from running about so much on the hard floor.

"You, alongside with Thor," – Thor looks up at the mention of his name – "will reintroduce Loki back into our society with the protection of the Einherjar. As this is progressing you will learn how to control your powers. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" I resist a mock salute, giving into a stern nod instead. I give into itching at the layer of drying blood on my forearm.

He nods at my comment.

"Within a week we will find a way for you to travel between our worlds." Frigga adds. Her upper eyelids drooping, eyes losing focus, and there's a slight pulling down at the corners of her lips. She tries to smile.

I can't help but give a weak, gleeful smile. I clear my throat to cover a feeble laugh. I'm happy to finally have a timeframe of when I can get home. "Thank you." I curtsey at them both.

"Thor," Odin says, turning his attention to his son, "show Tessa back to her room."

Thor walks down the steps to stand beside me, eyes gazing up and down the blood on my person. We wait for further command.

"Lars, take your men back to the dungeons and inform Lord Tyr and his men of what was transpired here. Take Loki away from where he currently resides and place him in the southern dungeons. Have a bath ready for him. Afterwards, a hot meal."

I look up at Thor, seeing that he's smiling like I am. Controlled, but happy.

The "Thunderer" places his hand on the back of my shoulder and leads back out of the throne room. His voice is a gentle rumble in my ear as he whispers, "Thank you, for what you have done, Tessa. If I had known, I would've stopped it myself. Thank you."

"No problem." I whisper back.

**~ Three Hours Later; Valaskjalf ~**

As time slowly progresses, the heavy storm comes to a slow end. Frigga has gone back to their chambers and, after two hours of fitful resting, fallen asleep. Her mind is plagued with the images that Tessa has created and of Tessa herself. Thor has done as he was told and now lays awake in his chambers. The claws of sleep slowly taking hold of his body. But he, much like his mother, can't get the pictures out of his mind. Loki, having gotten his warm bath and a hot meal, lays awake with droopy eyes as he stares up at the new white ceiling in his new holdings.

Odin remains seated on his throne with Gungnir standing ready at his side. His eye stares intently at the spot on the floor where the golden haired maiden with blazing blue eyes once stood, just three hours prior. There's a faint stain on the rug that leads up to where she was standing. The bulk of it is lost within the halls of the palace. The once innocent white and light pink nightgown is now a tainted deep red, from her shoulders to her feet. Even the necklace he had given her is red.

Her voice still rings within the walls – loud and true, unlike how she previously spoken in here. Odin closes his eye as he is traveled back into the past. (7)

_Every Lord, Lady, and royal child stood in Valaskjalf watching and hearing as the Terrible One raged on at his only daughter. The veins in his forehead and neck bulged out and face gained a red tint from the all his yelling and anger._

_"How could you have done something so ill thought-out?" He demanded to know. "Did you not think of what may happen to you if you were to lay with him? A mere stableboy! You laid with him for years like you were some common whore!"_

_The Princess sobbed at the white hot knife of a word. She sat before her father on her knees in front of everyone, shaking uncontrollably, her large skirt pooled around her like a fabricated barrier. Her hair, once bouncing with ringlets, hung on either side of her face like a thick curtain it could not hide the sounds of her cries. Her face was red and puffy, stained with hot, fat continuous tears. She dared not raise her head to meet her raging father or disgruntled mother or seething and concerned brothers._

_The death of her lover was enough, they thought, she does not deserve this public humiliation._

_"You are a princess, girl! You cannot simply lift your skirt to all that pass by and you cannot spread your legs from either – like those whores do for men! You were meant to be married to the young Lord Eileifr. Have you not thought of the consequences of your actions?" Odin rubbed his face, growing tired by the minute at how he was meant to punish his daughter. He didn't enjoy it of course, but she must be punished. Lord Eileifr's parents demanded she suffer the wrath of the blood eagle. That would be too extreme, he thought._

_This is killing him, as well._

_He glared back down at his quaking and sobbing little girl. He continued on with his wrath, "And now with you sullied, you will never be married and you will never have children. You will be unable to give honor to us or carry the family bloodline down to your sons. You have shamed us all!"_

_Another broken sob came from her. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep what little she had of herself together. So much had been taken from her in only a matter of hours. How much more of this could she take? How many times in these short hours have Frigga, Thor, Loki, and Balder pleaded with him not to do this? "She won't be able to take it!" they all said. "Lock in her room – she's already fallen into Silence! Please don't do this!"_

_And there Odin stood furious, yelling, calling his only daughter a whore and worthless in front of every royal member that had known the late young Lord Eileifr and demanded justice._

_"Your precious," he spat out the word, "stableboy killed a lord. He shall be hanged until death," – his daughter gasped, looking up at him with teary, red-rimmed, and blood-shot eyes – "as his punishment and further yours."_

_"Father, please—" She softly started with a begging, raspy and broken tone._

_"Silence!"_

_She whimpered, curling in herself again, and hid her face from everyone. Everyone flinched at the shout echoing through the massive hall. It is physically painful for the Royal Family – Thor especially with the special bond he had with his sister – to see such a sweet young woman to be treated in such a way and to see their King speak to her like that._

_"Until I say it is so, you will spend the remained of these days in your chambers – alone. Your meals shall be brought to you, but you will not speak to anyone and they will not speak to you. Do you understand?"_

_She nodded timidly; too afraid to say words. She had to gnaw on her lower lip to stop herself from speaking out, so much so that a bead of blood had blossomed forth._

_"Do. You. Understand?"_

_"Aye." It came out as a weak snivel – she had given up on speaking to him._

_"Very well, then. Thor, take her to her—"_

_Thor, Balder, Loki, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif sped down to their sister and friend – they were a blur of colors and flurrying capes. They created a wall around her; protecting her from prying and judgmental eyes._

_"Sister," Balder started, tears in his own eyes, "are you all right?"_

_She did not respond. She just sat there with her head down, shoulders shaking, soft sobs escaping pass her red lips, and arms tightly wound around her._

_Thor tentatively placed his calloused hands on shoulders. The suffering pain was nearly too much for him. "Sister," he whispered softly, "can you walk?"_

_The broken Princess nodded. Very slowly, with Thor and Loki's help, she stood on trembling legs. The others stood by to help if need be. The Princess raised her head again – a proud, royal and broken expression reached her face. It did not match the tears that still cascaded down her flushed face._

_With her small company, they led her to her Tower. They all stayed and conversed with her, or rather they attempted to. She would speak to none of them: not to her twin about how they can still train together, not to Loki and his magic, not to Balder and how she and their brothers can help him with his studies, not to Lady Sif about woman things, and not to the Warriors Three about their adventures. She simply shut down. Her tears were never ending._

Odin opens his eye to the present; the past fades away. This young woman, Tessa Rosalin Maberry, is increasingly different from his daughter. _Will it be even possible for her to regain her memories of us?_ Odin asks himself. _She already drank the potion created by Frigga and Lodur today – once in the morn and multiple times at evening's meal._

The AllFather rubs his hand down his aging face, growing wearier as the days pass by. The naïve innocence is gone from her, he sees that. This young woman is so much unlike the daughter he once had. She's raging fire compared to the once feeble candle flame. She didn't even wait for the herald to announce her arrival; something his daughter has always kindly done. Tessa's rage and anger had compelled her to act and speak out. She spoke for Loki when the guards would not; they knew of his treatment and were amused by it.

"He deserves it," they all told themselves.

Not Tessa, no. Even though Loki destroyed her city, somewhere deep inside her, she still loves the Liesmith and Father and Mother of monsters.

That naïve innocence has been gone away long before his daughter's disappearance. Perhaps if Odin had let her stay with that stableboy…Dreng and not marry Lord Eileifr and train with the soldiers—her brother, life would have been different.

Now, Tessa has seen a modified torture and execution method. The victim's ribs will be separated from their spine, by a dagger of sorts, and is acted like tattered wings. Their lungs are then torn out to flutter, just like the wings of an eagle. Tandril's method is to whip through the flesh to work towards the ribs. It is a slow, painful, and agonizing way to go about the torture.

Odin has seen her protect Loki, standing in the way of a blow that sent her flying to the ground. Despite what he has done and said to her, she had protected him.

_Much like she used to._ He thought dejectedly, remembering all those times with a bitter smile.

Sighing, Odin stands from his throne and walks down the room and to his chambers.

_A week._ Just a short week for them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Was it worth the long wait? I hope so! I reread it and had to rewrite some scenes for Tessa's sake and everyone else's. Originally the headaches and visions weren't in here; I think it's a nice addition and it makes more sense.**   
> **I do apologize if anyone (especially Loki) is out of character. I really wanted the stark difference between the Princess and Tessa to be noticeable; hence the way Loki reacted.**
> 
> ** END NOTES: **   
> **7) Regarding Odin's eye, this is something that has been bugging me lately. In Norse mythology, Odin pinned himself (with his own spear) to Yggdrasil for nine days and gives up his eye for ultimate knowledge. However, in the Marvel movie, it seems that he has lost in the battle with Jotunheim. I have yet to hear anything regarding Odin's eye in the movies (I don't read the comics).**   
> **Why wasn't the rest of his face fucked up then?**   
> **Why was only his eye gouged out in battle? If it were by a weapon more of his face would be torn off. If one of the giants had forcefully taken it out, wouldn't he have more scarring tissue (judging with what happened with Volstagg when they touched him in the first movie)?**   
> **In this story, bits and pieces of Norse Mythology will start to be mentioned. While still keeping the Marvel universe aspect of it.**
> 
> **_A MINOR CHANGE IS THAT TYR IS NOT A SON OF ODIN!_ **


	14. Ch. 14: Day One of Seven – Big Village, Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa explores a big village (with her big brother).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I’ve debated long and hard about doing this; writing out the week for Tessa. I was probably about fifteen pages for this chapter before I posted the previous one, and, looking at it now, I’m glad that I’m doing this. I do have the rest of the week planned – sorta. It’s just titles and I have a general idea of how they’re gonna go. One issue will be the length; you guys seen how long the previous chapters have been. I can’t promise they’ll be that long. Sorry. ^^;  
>  Time for thanks! AtomicTardis, a few guests, and Th1s1sMyUserName, thank you for your kudos! ^^ They always keep me going.
> 
> Now, for more…pressing matters.  
> Is anyone else imagining a merman Loki, war trophy Loki, and/or a Jotun Loki who’s forced to marry the Asgardian Princess, or is that just me? Since the voting is done, I’m thinking of so many AU stories with Loki and the Princess (I don’t wanna say her name ‘til the very end). A mer!Loki, a wartrophy!Loki, and Jotun!Loki are my three top thoughts, along with a _What Could’ve Been_ scenario.  
>  I wanna write them so bad!!  
> Does that make me pathetic, for wanting to write an AU about my own fanfic? :/

A week.

Just one week before they find a way for me to go home and return here. Back and forth, like I'm a Golden Retriever with a ball.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Be with _my_ family and friends, and fans. Be here with…a royal family and servants and magic.

It'll just be seven days. I can wait seven days. Saying, _seven days_ sounds shorter than saying, _one week_ for some reason. I can keep myself occupied until then. Explore the halls, the rooms, learn magic as Odin said, and get to know Thor, Frigga, and Gersemi. (Odin, too, maybe.) Then, there's the Warrior's Three and Lady Sif, I haven't met them formally yet. Today, Thor's seeing to it that I see the village. Villages if we're lucky with time.

Gersemi, whose round face and square jaw ending in a round chin is being framed by long coppery and wavy hair, stands behind me. She insists on doing my hair, taking the golden locks framing my face and braiding them, so that they may meet and be securely tied at the back of my head. I would've been fine having it brushed and left as is, but since we're meeting the "townspeople" – as she put it – it is best to look presentable.

_Makes sense_ , I think. Every time I go into the city, with or without Madi (Gawd I miss her, I wish I could see her), I always dress to impress. I never know when I'll see a vulture or meet a little princess or prince.

_Do they even have paparazzi here?_ I wonder, glancing around with fretful eyes, silently begging not to see the end of a winking camera. Not when I'm like this. Not when I literally have maidservants waiting on my hands and feet.

I can see the headlines now, just below my face: LOST MIND, ROYALTY GAINED.

After making arranging my bed so that a quarter can be bounced off it, four maids (five including Gersemi) sat me down in front of the golden and ornate vanity with an oval shaped mirror.

Thankfully, I got dressed before they came in like S.W.A.T. team.

Now, there's a maidservant filing my right hand's fingernails to perfection and another doing the same to my left. There's two more down at my feet, rubbing warm lavender scented oil into my calves once I told them to leave my toes alone.

"What are you and Prince Thor doing today, Princess," asks a young woman, Ivonette, her unidentifiable accent is thick and some words nearly blend together.

Without moving, I glance down at her, smiling kindly. Her dark brown hair is done-up to rest atop her head, some wild curls spill out to frame her oval shaped face. Large sky blue eyes shine happily up at me in return.

"Thor is just taking me to see the village. And, please, call me Tessa."

"We cannot do that, Princess. We must call you by your royal title," says Viva, with her round and bright green eyes gleaming.

"Why?"

"It is an unwritten rule. Of us at least – we are not as…high as…as someone with Gersemi's standing. A high serving maidservant."

"That is why I have these golden clasps on my gowns, Your Grace." Gersemi smiles down at me through the mirror.

"Even so," Ivonette starts, a line forming between her brows, "we cannot call you by your name. Even someone with Gersemi's standing; it is unseemly."

Looking up at Gersemi, through the mirror, it's now an unspoken rule between her and me. In company, Gersemi will never call me by name nor will I be upset with her when she does. For her sake – I can't imagine what will happen when she does.

It's that glimmer in our eyes, that barely there twitch of a lip's corner, a subtle quirk of a brow. It's like I'm talking to Madi or Tommy again.

I look away; breaking our conversation.

_Did she and the Princess do the same thing?_

"You're hair is done, Princess." Gersemi smoothes down any fly-a-ways at the top of my head.

"And so are your legs!" Viva chirps. She and the other young woman pull down the long, satin silver skirt and the sheer medium purple overskirt. They brush away any wrinkles.

"We're almost done with your nails, Your Grace."

The filing becomes more urgent, still careful, but notably faster.

Remembering when Madi and I got our nails done at a salon a few years back, I tell them, in a gentle tone of voice, "Don't rush yourselves. The town isn't going anywhere." I beam down at them, silently pleading that the file won't cut into my skin.

The filing slows down considerably.

_Thank you, God._

Once their done and I dismiss them, I examine the soft curves of my fingers; looking for any cuts that might need to be avoided during the day. Thankfully, they're fine. _They look like claws though._ I lightly giggle at the thought, pawing the air; imagining them extracting and retracting like a cat's. I've seen my parents' barn cats pawing the air – mothers and new born kittens mostly.

"Tessa?"

"Hm?" My hand curls into a loose fist and gently touches my sternum when I turn to face Gersemi, who's waiting patiently behind me with her delicate looking hands folded in front of her. Her eyes are kind, just like her closed-lipped smile.

"Are you ready to meet Prince Thor? He has said he will be waiting at the bottom of the steps."

"Oh, yeah, sure." I push myself up and walk towards the wooden and steeled door.

"May I make a suggestion first?"

If not for my many years of acting and learning the different types of accents, Gersemi's words would've been lost to me. Faint, unsure, and run together together.

I turn my head first to face her, then my body. "Sure, you know this place better than I do." I smile at her. "What is it?"

"You—She," the misstep is visibly ignored by me, "the Princess, used to wear cloaks or wraps when going out to the village. Though she was rarely allowed out of the palace walls, Odin had requested it of her; for her safety he claimed. Your face need not be hidden," she quickly adds on, "but…um…."

I lightly laugh; brushing off the annoying prickle I feel at the sides of my head. "It's okay. I understand." I walk to the closet. "Any ideas which one would look best?" Pushing aside skirts, gowns, blouses, and pants (leather, so badass), I look for any cloak or wrap that can match the outfit I have on now.

I hear the faintest sigh behind me, before the sound of flat-soled sandals walking across the thick rug. Without any loose jewelry hanging from her ears or heavy fabric, her shoes are the only sound she makes.

"I suggest the dark purple one with the hood." She pulls out an eggplant satin cloak with an extravagant sweep and twirl.

Rubbing the smooth fabric between my fingers, I tell her, "It's perfect."

Gersemi, with bright eyes glimmering, and to my shock, ties the cloak around my shoulders. She's completely focused on her task. I have to tilt my head up so that I don't stare at how fast and nimble her fingers are. When it's securely tied in a tight bow, she smoothes it over my shoulders; hiding my dress.

"Let's go."

Picking up the front of my skirt – just so that my feet are revealed – walking down the steps is easier. Though, now I wonder why there aren't any hand railings. There are a lot of steps, shouldn't there being railings for safety proposes? After a few dozen steps or so, even though it feels like a hundred going up, there are landings with tall windows that look out to grassy fields and mountains.

I don't stop to marvel the view; only taking a few glimpses from the corner of my eye. The sun is high up in the clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight. Thor sent Gersemi and the other four handmaidens up hours ago. They "had to get my make-up just right" and just…make sure everything is…princess-like.

_No, don't think like that_ , I scold myself – my face unreadable. _Keep a positive outlook on this; you're going to see the village today and you'll be able to go home in seven days. You might be able to ask Thor some questions._

"Tessa?"

"Thor." I smile brightly up at the large, blond man with twinkling blue eyes.

"You look beautiful," he tells me, offering his arm. The dragon scaled armor is like second skin on his massive arms. It's hard and cold and smooth; the pads of my fingers glide smoothly over it, not pinched by the small triangular shapes.

_Makes sense, wouldn't want that annoyance in battle._ Involuntarily, my nostrils flare and my nose scrunches when I remember feeling the sharp pinch from a bracelet I got from my grandma. That hurt!

"Thank you," I tell him, smiling up at him. "You look rather handsome." It's blatantly obvious that I look him up and down, grinning like the Cheshire cat, as we walk towards the entrance. Through the short, navy shoulder wrap I see glimpses of the dazzling silver armor on the dark blue armor. Bracers cover his forearms, navy blue with silver seams. His stomping feet are not lost through his heavy footsteps; the black and blue boots do nothing to hide his proud stride.

"Many thanks. Are you excited about today?" His eyes flicker down to me, and back over his shoulder to Gersemi only for a moment.

"Very, I can't wait to see everything. What are we doing today?" The grip on Thor's arm tightens the smallest bit, while a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I even take notice of the extra skip in my stride. Finally, finally, I'll be able to see something other than the never ending halls and too-numerous-to-count rooms. I don't think I saw everything in this palace! At least outside looks different.

Fresh.

Alive.

"We will be seeing the merchants – our vendors. They are a pleasant people, lively." He chuckles, shaking his head with a smile. "There are multiple Silver Districts on Asgard; we'll be visiting the one closest to the palace. Perhaps, if you're willing, we can visit the others as well. We'd have to go on horseback, though."

"Please, I grew up around horses. My dad and uncle trained them, and people, to be theatrical jousters."

There's a brief pause before Thor asks, "We have theaters here as well, but our horses are of two men under a sheet – puppets. How are your horses portrayed?"

I let out a small laugh under my breath. "First off, that's a very funny image in my head. And, to answer your question about the theatre horses, we use puppets, too, just not two men under a sheet. There was recently a Broadway production, called _War Horse_ , where the horse was a puppet. That was pretty cool, beautiful in a way."

"Were you a part of this play?" Thor gently asks.

I shake my head. "No, my forte is in front of the camera. At least I think so; I only ever entertained the idea of doing a live performance. I would love to perform on stage though."

"I'm positive that you would be a wonderful performer."

"Thanks." I let out a small laugh, finding the sudden idea funny. "Maybe, after I get home, you can watch one of my movies? I'm sure my parents have some." If not all.

"I would like that."

…

Asgard, in a simple word, can be described as magnificent. High archways, buildings so tall they look as if they're caressing the sky, sharp and smooth edges, and complicated designs that would never work on Earth.

Despite the majority of the castle being gold, or having accents or shades of gold, the buildings of the homes and stores are an ivory color. Stone upon stone of ivory with intricate detail. The most common pattern I see (when I'm not rushing to different vendors, pulling on Thor's hand) are of vines and leaves interweaving and wrapping around the base of the building. Those patterns, and the block entirely, are an olive green color.

When Thor is able to keep me still, he tells me it's the pattern of Yggdrasil the Tree of Life. Its great branches stretch out over all of the Nine Worlds, and extend up and above to Valhalla – the heavens he said when he saw my confused face. I think he was about to say something more, but saw another shop with sparkly objects.

Shops run down either side of the road; they're made of stone and wood. Funny, I'd thought the roofs would be thatched. The vendors inside the open shops shout just like those in New York; loudly. (And rather obnoxiously.)

"A diamond necklace," one man shouts, thrusting a large, glittering necklace in the air. "An exquisite necklace, for an exquisite lady!" He smiles at me, urging me over with his hand.

My eyes linger on how the necklace glimmers and winks at me in the sunlight. It's _begging_ me to come over and buy it. To touch it! Ignoring the imaginative whispers in my head that say, _Come to me, Tessa. Come to me_ , in a squeaky voice, I shake my head and smile at the vendor. I hold onto to Thor just a little bit tighter; to resist the temptation of going over there and purchasing it with the money I don't have.

Thanks to the peripheral vision, I catch the glimpse Thor throws down at me. there's a upwards tug to the corner of his lips.

"Fresh bread," shouts another vendor. "Fresh bread! The freshness is in the sound!"

Looking around Thor's massive body, I see a man with a circle body shape holding a loaf of bread in the air as if it were a new baby and I'm brought back to the opening of Walt Disney's _Lion King_ because of it.

He offers it to a young woman with two young children by her side. They exchange words, the young woman nods and points to other sorts of bread. The children tug at her long skirted dress and point one with flour sprinkled on top. She laughs and points to that as well.

_They're all so…normal._

I've seen them before, working and milling about… _Gawd, how long has it been?_ At that point they only seemed like tiny dots. I could only guess what they were doing down there at the time. It seemed like this though.

Even though I can smell all of the different scents baked bread, overly sweet things, ladies' perfumes, and strong spices they don't mingle together. It all just wafts past my nose, so that I can catch each single thing as we walk by, and up into the air to nothingness.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Tessa?" Thor asks, smiling down at me.

His smile is like the sun; large and bright. His bright blue eyes glimmer like far-off stars.

"Very," I say, matching his grin. "I especially liked the puppet show – it was cute. Is it true though?"

He chuckles deeply in his chest. "Yes, but to some extent. Some of the singers like to over exaggerate certain things. The battle was gruesome and lasted for days, but not many lives were lost. They have realized our—my father's strength after a single month."

"Wow, that's gotta be the shortest battle I've ever heard of."

Thor's smile softens, the light in his eyes remain ever bright. "Yes."

"Mommy," a small child sounds from the side of me, "who's that with the prince? Will she marry him?"

That causes us both to stumble and stop – even Gersemi, who looks more shocked than us. A tickle of a laugh rises to the back of my throat; it's quickly swallowed and is hidden with a cough. Thor coughs, too. It doesn't hide the airy chuckle that escapes past his lips.

"No, sweetie. That's his sister – the Princess."

_She knows?_ All sense of peacefulness is replaced with curiosity. Glancing at them doesn't sate my gradually growing interest.

"Oh…she's so pretty!" the little boy stares at me with big, round eyes. A smile settles itself on my lips when I look at them fully.

My arm slips from Thor's as I walk towards the duo with a smile on my lips. "Thank you, little prince." I crouch down to his level – a princess role seeping in. He clutches onto his mother's skirt, smiling bashfully.

"You're welcome," he says bashfully.

"Your Grace," voices his mother with a kind voice, "please forgive him, he didn't know."

"There is nothing to forgive." I stand to see her more clearly, beaming. She has a round face ending with a round jaw and chin, her eyes are hazel in color and oval in shape, they're surrounded by short lashes, on either side of her narrow nose are pronounced freckled cheeks, and her full red lips are set in a firm line. Her long, frizzy, fair hair is tied back from her face.

"If you don't mind me asking," I continue, "how do you know of my status and relationship with Thor?" There isn't another way to say this. Five minutes into our—my adventure, I've heard far off whispers and bluntly obvious stares and glares. Over the years I've grown used to hear them – along with the soft _ca-click_ of a camera. Then, a swarm of flashing lights and people shouting my name. This is entirely different. They whisper behind their hands and stay their distance, smiling as we pass. There is never malice in these peoples' expressions; just sheer kindheartedness. They have yet to crowd me where I feel like I'm suffocating and about ready to scream at them.

The youngest of teens and children do not hold the same restraint as the whispering adults. Before they can ask, like this little boy did, their mothers turn them away and shush them. The mothers' backs are to me, but, if I get Thor to walk just a little slower, I watch the kids eyes widen in wonder.

The mother's eyes get to be the size of saucers for a moment, before relaxing and a caring emotion fills them. "I cannot speak on the behalf of all of Asgard, but I have treasured seeing the brief glimpses of you. They were such…peaceful times. We have not spoken—we've never spoken."

"Why?"

If the Princess truly was a kind and open woman, why didn't anyone talk to her on her rare occasions out? Were the guards really that terrifying?

There's a pause that falls between us. All the smells and sounds fade away; expect the sounds of our breathing. Not even the gentle breeze passing between us shatters it. It grows and grows until she looks down while her brows knit together. In deep concentration to find the right words or loathing, I don't know. The woman's hand knits itself in her son's hair.

"Prince Loki," – the smallest groups of muscle along my lower back tense at the name – "was a rather scary sight."

Just as I open my mouth, to ask her to elaborate, a meaty hand gingerly falls onto my upper back. I jump slightly at the unexpected touch. Looking up, I see Thor standing beside me a toothless smile barely tugging at his lips.

"Sister, there is something I wish to show you."

As we reached the front entrance of the castle, Thor asked if he could call me by his sister's name. Saying that the people weren't under the influence of the potion his mother and Lodur created. Seeing me—seeing _her_ has the peoples' minds bring up moments from the past.

It feels weird to be called that so casually. Maid and I have joked before of how we're sisters, Thor doesn't seem to. He wears it on his heart; branded on his skin.

"One moment, I wanna hear her speak." After turning to him to say that, I look back at the woman. She has shielded away, curtseying at the sight of Thor. "What has Loki done to you while I was away? I was not aware he was doing anything."

Thor harshly says his sister's name.

"What?" I match his tone of voice, looking up at him with a spark of rage in my eyes. I can feel it dwindle at the concern evident in his eyes.

He moves his massive hand down to my hip; the satin cloak smoothes and then bunches up slightly. "I will tell what Loki has done while you and he walked about, but not _here_."

He did something while she was still with them?

"Why not?" It has taken a great effort not to add a certain expletive there. Thankfully, it came out smoothly and eloquently.

Here, away from Earth, away from everyone I know and love, I have to play the part of a princess. Dressed as I am, with my hair braided back, and smelling of a lavender flower on a summer afternoon I'm not…me out here. I'm another part – I have to act out here just as I do in the palace. When I'm eating Frigga, Odin, and Thor I have to be on my best behavior like I'm eating at a stranger's house.

There's _some_ normalcy when it's just me and Gersemi. Only some. I can see a glimmer of some distant emotion in her eyes.

"Because, here is neither the time nor the place." Thor whispers harshly in my ear. Then, he gives a big smile to the woman and her son. "Please, forgive my sister. She's been more protective of Loki lately."

_Protective? Of Loki?_

A small nail begins to drive itself into the forefront of my head. It's being hammered in over and over again. I hear small sniffles and tiny shouts under jeers and laughter. I gently shake my head; it doesn't do anything. It only seems to thicken the fog and jumble the voices.

"All is forgiven, Prince Thor." Quickly, she and the boy leave. The boy smiling and chattering about how he got to meet the Princess that he didn't know existed.

"Okay," I say huffily, the act falling apart a bit, "now that they're gone, can you explain why she never came out? And why Loki terrorized people?"

Thor walks us deeper into the village where men, dressed in silver and black or gold and black armor, march by us more and more often. Those that have curved horns on their golden helms and yellow capes I know are the Einherjar.

"Now is not the time, Tessa."

"When will be the time? 'Cause the only thing I have to go on are books and the stories I heard about her from Frigga and…and…those three guys and the woman."

"When we return to the palace and away from prying ears, I will tell you."

I look behind me, raising a brow at the silent Gersemi, motioning to Thor with my eyes. I wanna sign to her, _Is this guy serious?_ Had she been Madi, she would've smiled and possibly laugh to herself.

She isn't.

But she does smile. Barely.

Sighing, I turn my attention before me.

"Those that you speak of are Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif. They are my truest friends and allies." Thor says with a brim of pride. "They're eager to meet you; though Sif has caught a glimpse of you yesterday."

Blinking up at him, I ask if she's the woman that was dressed in armor with dark hair.

She didn't do what I thought his friends would do. She didn't walk up to me to talk, say how I didn't change in the "years I've been missing," and what I intend on doing. Stay or go?

_Then, again, they only ever told me stories about her and her brothers._

"Yes, that was she. She is eager to speak with you."

Just as I open to mouth, inhaling to ask, he continues, "You will meet them all soon, tomorrow if we're lucky. During this week, you will see what Asgard has to offer."

"So that I stay?"

"So that you may see beyond the palace walls – that you may not feel trapped."

Making a small, defeated sound in the back of my throat wondering just how much he knows. I haven't said anything obvious when Gersemi showed me around the many halls and pointed to distance places.

Even though I have to act around these people, when we get too close to stands, I can breathe easier out here. There isn't the constant stomp and clank of the Einherjar; I do see them, but not as often as I would at the castle. I don't hear the hushed, gossiping whispers of the…servants…handmaidens? It's weird to think that. I don't want to think like that.

Why else live in the suburbs of New York and not in some expensive hotel or mansion?

I'm used to doing things for myself. I _like_ doing things for myself.

If all those roles I've played are completely true; I don't want to be a princess.

"Would you like a sweet?"

Smiling politely, I say, "Yes, thank you." _I love all types of food really_ , I want to add. Standing in front of a vendor with sweet-smelling baked goods; I resist.

Cradling a small, circular piece of baked bread with a fruity jam in the center in his hand, he tells me that it's a plum tart.

There are thin slices of plum circling around it.

Taking a delicate bite, I let out an involuntary hum at the sweet and tangy taste. The flavor leaves a sharp sensation on either side of my neck – just under the corners of my jaw. The jam is rather juicy, and dribbles onto the napkin, yet it has that stickiness to it so it doesn't gush out. Slices of the fruit meet the bread and dance along my tongue until it slides down my throat.

Covering my smiling mouth, giggling, I tell the merchant, "This is absolutely splendid!"

His round, red, bearded face glows. "Thank you, Princess. It means everything to me that you enjoyed it," he says, folding his arm across his chest and bowing at the waist.

While I continue to eat like royalty (I really just want to gobble this up), Thor gives the seller a silver coin.

"Oh," I exclaim, whirling around to Gersemi, "would you like some?"

She raises her hand, palm facing me, and gently waves it from side to side. "No, thank you. I'm perfectly fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes." She folds her hands in front of her.

"Okay, then."

The merchant waves at us enthusiastically as we turn around and walk down the even stone road. He wishes us well on this fine day.

Acting has always come naturally to me. Doing the research for a part, slipping into the role in costume, and bringing that part to life is always fun, too. The roles that belong in the fantasy genre – princesses, queens, knights, elves – are the most fun. They're so interesting to learn about and to physically be them. Of course it's only for some odd hours during the day or night, for two years or so.

Walking down this road, or in the halls, I find myself acting like a princess. Kind, gentle, soft-spoken words, always think of others, and flowy and ladylike actions.

_If it weren't for this growing headache I might actually enjoy myself._

Even sitting beside a fountain, the water arching high behind me and falling down into the clear blue pool beneath, my hands are folded in my lap and my back is rod-straight. Even when I was being interviewed I didn't have to sit this straight. Then again, I wasn't dressed like this either.

_Still, this beats being in the palace all day._

Thor stands a few vendors down, speaking to the merchant loudly and boisterously. About what, I don't know. There are too many mingled voices to hear them clearly.

Gersemi sits beside me, whispering what each person sells and who's who with a smile on her face. The dull headache presses itself on the top of my head. It grows heavier and heavier with each face she points out. I have to dig my nails into the pads of my hands, so that I don't rub my temples. Keeping my lips closed, I take deep breaths through my nose with a heaving chest.

A small group of children run by us, giggling and squealing as all kids do. With them there's a high buzzing sound, before it suddenly stops. Or it could just be my head.

The tallest boy with tussled sandy blond hair takes out a golden ball, from a bag at his hip. The ball is so large he has to hold it with two hands. The little kids cheer happily, clapping their hands. The blond boy throws the ball in the air; it elegantly explodes into ribbons of metallic gold and silver. The silver, are interlinked ribbons that slowly move and clink together around the floating gold. Tiny, paper green dragons seem to fly along the silver ribbons.

Like a force of nature, something invisible and heavy slams down onto my head. I have to jerk my head to the side and brush my fingers through my hair, to make it seem innocent and to hide the sudden onslaught of tears filling my eyes. Closing my eyes, a few escape passed my lashes. Opening my mouth, quick and quiet breaths escape me. A groan lodges itself in the back of my throat.

When I look back, the boys and the bustling village are gone.

Instead of sitting by the fountain with Gersemi, I'm by myself in a room with pale ivory walls and candy apple red accents. I'm sitting on a fluffed bed with a burgundy quilt, watching to young children play with floating object.

I've seen enough childhood pictures of myself to recognize the little girl as me. Even though her hair is a tad longer, and is in a complicated up-do with a silver beret to hold half of it, and she's wearing a taffeta, velvet Byzantium medieval dress with silver leaf trims. She dances under the floating object with a little boy, clapping her tiny hands. The long, loose sleeves look like wings on her short arms.

I'm smart enough to know that the little boy is a younger version of Thor. He's an inch or two shorter than her with wild yellow hair and is dressed in a royal blue doublet with cornflower accents, a white dress shirt is under it, and black breeches hang from his hips. Their feet are bare; slapping against the floor with their wild movements.

_Why am I seeing this_ , I want to cry. What does this have to do with me? What does this have to do with the village that's separated into how much coin they make? Where's the older Thor, the _now_ Thor? Why isn't he here; he'd like this more than I do.

They talk in a different language, with their toddler-like voices squealing up at the floating thing. Maybe it's a secret twin language? They do that, don't they?

Tiny Thor jumps up on a divan wildly moving his arms about, shouting something in their secret language, and he points to the floating thing.

Bit by bit, a sense of nostalgia blossoms inside me. Why was I so mad again? This is so nice and…calming. Thor looks so cute, too.

The floating thing looks a little like what those boys' were playing with. Only the dragons are red dragons with golden underbellies. Minuscule bursts of fake fire come from their mouths time from time.

The Princess squeals, clapping her hands.

Then, Frigga opens the door. "What are you two doing," she asks with a gentle smile. There's a bundle of blankets in her arms.

"Nothing." Little me and tiny Thor chorus together, grinning.

Carefully, as to not disturb the anything around me, I get up from the bed. Under my breast, my heart pounds relentlessly. My breathing is noticeably heavy to my ears. There's a lingering ache in my head with a dull ring in my ears.

It fades with each step closer to the floating and softly clinking…thing. A toy? They seem to treat it as such – it brings joy as mine did when I was a child. _That's right, it's a toy._

Almost unsure, the corners of my lips tug upward as I stand under the slow moving toy. The bursts of fire almost seem real, surely they can't be. _It's a child's toy!_

Slowly, delicately I raise my hand to the flying dragons, watching how their wings flap up and down mechanically. I only want to touch those passing the underside, of course; if the fire is real I don't want to get burned. _It can't be real…._

A name, said softly and lovingly, rings out from a ways.

My fingers curl and I cringe at the name. That's not my name, is what I want to say. Those words fail to pass my lips and I still stare at the tinkling dragons – still reaching for them. "I wanna touch them," I say softly. My voice is not my own.

"But we're going to the village!" Tiny Thor boasts.

Frigga calls to her daughter again, more sternly this time. Loudly, urgently.

I'm jolted back, headache gone and forgotten, when a grown Thor calls to her.

The very tips of my fingers are skimming over the moving silver bits of the floating object. Quickly, my lips pull back from the gentle smile to a toothy grin. It all happens so fluidly with how I point to the thing above me and turn to Thor and Gersemi standing a ways away.

"This toy is absolutely wonderful!" It's not what I would say; it's too wordy, too formal. This once-ball-floaty-thing is "absolutely wonderful," it's just…something a princess would say aloud.

Thor smiles, walking up to me with a powerful stride. Gersemi follows behind him.

Looking up at the thing, my hand lowering to my side, I continue, "The dragons are simply immaculate! They're so life like!"

The soft sound from the toy fades and it snaps shut. A yelp tears from my mouth and my hands jerk out instinctively to catch it. I have to hold it with two hands just like that little boy.

I continue the princess act; saying how well-kept it is and how much I wish to know how it works. All the while ignoring the face staring back at me.

"Tessa," Thor whispers in my ear, his short and bristly beard brushing against my ear, "you have to give back their toy."

I immediately take my nails away from the small crevice. "Oh," I say, startled that I almost (possibly) broke a children's plaything.  
"Here you go!" I toss the large golden ball at the annoyed looking children. The blond boy, the one who brought it, squeals when he catches it and he and his friends run off.

Once my cloak is readjusted and my hand rests on Thor's arm we resume our walk.

"Were to now, dear Thor?"

Above the huts and golden monuments, the sky is painted with reds, oranges, pinks, and purples. The puffy clouds catch these colors and give the world above a texture. There are young men running about to light the inside of wide rimmed torches and a few windows of homes spark to life with a single candle.

"We are heading home now," says Thor.

"What? Why?" After all these hours of smiles and laughs, he just ups and says we're going home? He…he can't do that! Do all older siblings do that?

"It's late," he speaks softly, shushing my shriek. "I, nor my mother and father, think you're ready for the night life of Asgard."

"I lived in New York for _years_ ," I hiss. "And let's not forget other foreign, non-American cities where a movie was taking place. I think I can handle an alien city. Hell, some of those foreign cities _were_ alien." (8)

Thor, for all his largeness and loud voice, speaks gently. "It'll be dark soon."

The muscles along my back tense and my spine straightens more so. I know the sun is practically gone now, if I look up long enough I can see the twinkling diamond stars through the thin veil of clouds, and the shadows on the ground seem to stretch out for us. I don't know how illuminated the streets are at night. I don't know if this dress can tear easily if I'm grabbed. I don't know how loyal these people are. _What types of monsters are here?_

"Let's go," I whisper, tightening my hold on him.

Even though he leads the way back, I set the quick pace. I kick my legs up and step down; the satin skirt and cloak whirling around me. My heels echo in my ears. Long gone are the sounds of the village people. I just need to keep walking. If I keep walking like this I'll be back in my—her room. The room that is full of light and peace and quiet. Away from everything that's evil. _Where nothing can hurt me or take me away._

**~ House of Odin, Eastern Tower ~**

Gersemi watches as the Prince leads Tessa up to her chambers. She listens to the sharp clicks of her heels and the rather panicked breathes leaving her lips. The handmaiden wrings her hands together nervously as she waits at the bottom of the stairs. From time to time tiny, rough fingers glide down to smooth wrists, absentmindedly tracing the veins underneath. An act she hasn't done for many years.

Auburn locks brush over her thin shoulders to hide her face. She was told to go back to her chambers, that she wasn't needed for the rest of the night. Tessa had told her that with such an air of royalty and kindness Gersemi saw her friend for just a moment.

Fear was—is closing in on her; the handmaiden saw it in her eyes. She practically flew up those infuriating stairs with Thor behind her. The Princess never reacted in such a way when night approached; she adored seeing her father's kingdom alive at night. She said that's when people's true colors often come out, if you looked and listened carefully.

Heavy footsteps stomp down the steps; growing closer and closer to the worrisome young woman. Gersemi straightens her back and throws her shoulders back, her chin held high. A powerful stance that the Princess taught her long ago.

_"If you stand like this,"_ she said softly, _"you'll be as tall as any man."_

"How is she? Is she well?" Gersemi asks concern etched in her tone.

Thor isn't the least bit surprised to see the handmaiden standing at the foot of the stairs. Her first concern has always been his sister.

"She is well. Resting as we speak, with firelight surrounding her." The Prince of Asgard leads her to her chambers, which are nearby should Tessa require her assistance in the morn.

"She doesn't not enjoy the dark?"

"No," Thor shakes his head, "there's a fear in her eyes that I've never seen. I haven't asked her why nor will I. If she wishes it, I will be open ears when she comes to me."

"As will I."

A fond smile tugs at the corners of the eldest son's lips. "Thank you, Gersemi."

"You're welcome." She bows her head. "And many thanks for escorting me to my door."

The smile turns into a grin, where Gersemi sees a few of Thor's teeth, as he bows to her in a gentlemanly manner. "It was my pleasure. Pleasant dreams."

"Pleasant dreams."

With a twirl of her skirt, the young looking woman enters her chambers. The room is small, yet bigger than most of the servants' quarters. Orbs of pale yellow light float in the four corners of the room, so that she may navigate safely about.

Having locked the door after she entered her room, an instinctual action, she walks towards her dresser. Her movements are stiff – robotic in her deep thoughts – as she takes out her night shift. Unclasping her golden belt her long dress losses all shape for her figure. Placing it on her bedside end table, next the clasps on her shoulders come off with a click. Kicking it up from where it pools around her feet, she walks towards her bathroom's hamper. Reminding herself that she needs to wash her and Tessa's clothes soon.

Again, the pretty little maid wonders how many more washes that pink nightgown will need to get the blood off. As the personal handmaiden to the Princess, she has been assigned to clean it. Now, it unfortunately resembles a shade of orange rather than a lovable pink.

White linen places cool, small kisses on her skin as the shift gracefully falls to her body and walks toward the inviting bed.

Try as Gersemi might, she can't stop seeing Tessa standing under the child's ball. The cloak had fallen behind her as she raised her hand up to touch the toy. A lazy smile was on her lips. Her bright blue eyes were glazed over, too. Gersemi could only watch Tessa as her expression went to someplace far away.

_An actress_ , she reminds herself. _She's an actress._

Asgard has its poetry and theatrical plays; she knows what an actress is. They pretend to be something and someone else. Gersemi had seen great plays of battle and war, and those of true love. Truly awe inspiring.

Tessa was in another world as she stared at the toy. She saw it.

What Gersemi is really unsure of is whether or not the silver diamond key pendant truly glowed or not. In the dwindling sunlight, with how the light caught it, she remains curious as sleep consumes her. Dreams of the past fogging her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** For this ending, I _really_ wanted to include something about Gersemi’s past. But it wouldn’t…fit, which makes me so fucking made! I hope I kinda hinted at it. The scenes themselves involved Gersemi and Frigga speaking about Tessa. And, then, there was one where I hoped to have Tessa meet a blacksmith and speak with about Mjölnir. *blows a raspberry* Bummer.  
>  By the way, I’ve updated my (fanfiction) profile with my upcoming projects. True, it’s mostly Avengers/Marvel stuff, but who cares? Not me. I don’t know when they’ll be posted (most likely after _PoA_ , or when it’s close to an end) – I just think it’s nice to get my thoughts together now.  
> Please, lemme know what you think.
> 
> **END NOTES:**  
>  8) The one the Internet has taught me, it’s that people take great offense to something’s. That being said, to those “non-American” cities I (and Tessa) mean you no offense. Tessa’s merely trying to stay out of the palace a little while longer and enjoy what little freedom it brings. She’s trying to make a point with Thor. I would love to go to a non-American city! However, lack of money (and knowing the languages) prevents me from doing so.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, how was it? Was it good for my first Avengers/Thor fanfic? Please, let me know what you think!
> 
> Key:
> 
> (1) Okay, to be honest, this isn't completely mine. I was on Tumblr one day and saw a "Thorki" comic strip and I based this bit off of that. Only I replaced Loki with the Princess and did some minor changes. Thor attempting to lift Mjölnir and burning his hand and Loki healing it was the artist's idea. Unfortunately, I can't recall the artist's name and I hope he or she isn't offended that I more or less borrowed this. But please, if you'd like to see/read it I suggest going to Tumblr (or, now that I think about it, Google) go read it. Please, the art is very well done.


End file.
